


deep end of our little ocean

by Pawprinter



Series: Chopped: The 100 Fanfic Challenge Fics [6]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Grounder Bellamy Blake, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26232355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pawprinter/pseuds/Pawprinter
Summary: Most people look at their soulmarks and see hope, and life, and love.Bellamy looks at his and sees a death sentence.With his birthday quickly approaching and no hope for finding his soulmate, he resigns himself to living out the last of his days with his sister on an oil rig at sea.And then he meets Clarke..or, five times Bellamy saves Clarke and the one time she saves him.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Chopped: The 100 Fanfic Challenge Fics [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1358866
Comments: 48
Kudos: 329
Collections: Non Anonymous TROPED Collection





	deep end of our little ocean

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** coarse language, depiction of violence and blood, topics of death and mortality, discussions regarding drowning.
> 
> The title of this fic comes from lyrics of the song "Pool" by Paramore.
> 
> This fic originally started out as my submission for the Qualifying Round of Chopped Madness back in March 2020, where we were tasked to write a fic under 5000 words that included Bellamy as a main character, was set in canonverse, was a fairy tale AU, with a villain written as a good guy/good guy written as a villain. If you know me, you know I am absolutely horrible at sticking to word counts. and. here we are. Over 27k words later.
> 
> Big thanks to Lai ([@trustbeIlamy](https://twitter.com/trustbeilamy) on Twitter) and Jen ([eyessharpweaponshot](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com) on Tumblr) for letting me rant to them about this fic and for pre-reading pieces of it. They're both queens and I would never be able to write anything without them.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

_**i.** _

Bellamy’s finger ran across his wrist, tracing the hem of the black cloth armband wrapped around his skin. The air was sweet with sea salt, running through his hair with a gentle breeze. The squawks of seagulls could be heard in the distance, the waves lapped rhythmically against the metal poles, the sky was bright. In all regards, it was a nice day.

With one exception.

“Bellamy,” she said, her voice jarring him. “Bellamy, are you _listening_ to me?”

He turned away from the vast horizon, locking eyes with his sister. Octavia had good intentions, he knew that, but it was driving him insane. They’d had the same conversation over and over _and over_ ever since his last birthday.

It was exhausting and frustrating and—

“Bellamy?” she pressed again, her frown deepening. 

“I’m listening,” he told her, even though that wasn’t necessarily the truth. “I just… I have nothing more to say. We’ve discussed this before.”

She fell silent and he turned back out to the water, watching as the waves crested in the distance. The deep blue turned white where it smashed against the rig and Bellamy knew it would’ve sucked anything in its path out to sea. The water was unforgiving; it was something that terrified him when he first arrived on the oil rig. Forgiveness was something he needed back then and the sea was the last place he thought he could find it.

Once again, Octavia broke him from his thoughts. “I love you,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’m _worried_ for you Bellamy. Your birthday is in—”

“Don’t worry about me.” He spun to her, his expression set. “I will be fine. Worry about yourself and your approaching birthday, O. Alright?”

“Not alright.”

It was moments like this one that reminded Bellamy just how terrifying his younger sister was. She used to be the second of a Trikru warrior; a way of life they both abandoned when they fled to the sea. Still, that didn’t mean she was any less terrifying and fierce than she was back then.

“You have one month until your birthday. You have _weeks_ to find your soulmate and _kiss them,”_ Octavia said. Bellamy clenched his jaw. “You realize this isn’t a game, don’t you? If you don’t find them—whoever that may be—you’ll _die.”_ She chewed her lip. “You saw what happened to John, didn’t you? He didn’t leave the rig, and he—”

Bellamy knew all of this and he didn’t want to be reminded of it. He didn’t want to be reminded of the hounds of death that were clawing at his heels. He didn’t want to be reminded of John, who hadn’t left the rig to find his soulmate; John, whose death was still fresh on everyone’s minds. He didn’t want to think about how he was fucked, no way out.

Everyone got an identical mark on their wrists as soon as they turned eighteen; a mark that changed lives; a mark that brought together two halves of the same soul.

_Soulmates._

He wasn’t too sure if it was a by-product of the radiation from when Earth ended hundreds of years ago, or if it was something their species always experienced. Plato seemed to think soulmates existed, stating humans were born with four arms, four legs, and two faces.

Frankly, Bellamy didn’t give a fuck.

All he knew was that the soulmark was a kiss of death.

He lost too many friends to it. He saw how it ripped people apart. He knew that it destroyed lives.

If someone didn’t find their soulmate—the other half to their soulmark—before their twenty-first birthday, they’d die. 

It was as simple _(and horrifying, and terrifying)_ as that.

Death, for him, was inevitable.

“You know very well why I can’t leave the rig,” he said, his tone sharper than he meant it to be. Octavia’s eyes narrowed, but she held her composure. “It isn’t some personal choice for me to stay here. If I could go, I would’ve by now. I would’ve went with Raven, or Jasper, or Monty, or with— fuck. I would’ve went with anyone. But I _can’t,_ and I know that’s my own fucking fault, but—”

“Whatever.” Octavia brushed past him and leaned against the metal railing, her head dipping below her shoulders.

He knew his sister, and he knew her well. Despite being annoyed with him, she was also worried and exhausted and desperate.

_Maybe he would be desperate too, if he still had hope._

Bellamy’s gaze was pulled back towards the water, as if he was drawn out to sea like a piece of driftwood. The vastness of the ocean calmed him. He sucked in a long breath before forcing his gaze back to Octavia.

“It doesn’t matter. I fucked up. This is the price I pay for that. I’m just thankful that _you_ will get a chance beyond this. When you turn eighteen, you can leave the rig; you can go wherever you want; you can—”

She laughed humorlessly. “You really think I’m worried about that?” Her eyes were glossy when they turned towards him. “It’s _unfair._ Everyone else has the whole world to search for their match—you only have the rig.”

If he was being honest, this was a thought that ran through his head too many times to count. _It wasn’t fair. Not enough people, not enough time, not enough options._ He liked to think about how much easier it would be if he could just fucking _go;_ if he could do what everyone else did and search the whole planet to find their missing halves.

But, then again, he did this to himself. What he told Octavia was true; this was the price he had to pay. _An eye for an eye. A life for a life. Blood for blood._

He turned back to the crashing water, desperate for the waves to quiet his mind.

“You know… Roma’s birthday is coming up,” Octavia said. “Maybe you two are soulmates. Maybe you don’t even need to leave the rig.”

He tried to keep his face expressionless. He didn’t want to crush the little hope his sister had left, but he knew Roma was not his soulmate. Soulmates were drawn to each other by something that could only be explained as destiny, and Roma was only barely tolerable to him.

_He would know when he found his soulmate._

Just as he already knew that he was a dead man walking.

Bellamy joined Octavia against the railing, both looking out over the edge of the rig. They were in the middle of a vast ocean, no land masses in sight. The view was both liberating and damning. It was the reason his life was spared by his old clan, but _it was so goddamn lonely._ It made him feel insignificant.

_Maybe he was insignificant._

The only people he knew were ghosts of a past life and those on the rig. The only reality he was aware of was this; the rig, the smell of the sea, the sound of rushing water, the call of the birds. Trees and mud and _green_ —they belonged to memories that were better off forgotten.

Bellamy watched the water dance along the horizon. The world was calmer than his mind that day; no high wind, no engulfing waves, no dampening clouds. The sun was warm against his neck and etched beautiful shapes into the water below.

Blues, and greys, and browns, and golds, and—

_Gold._

His head snapped in the direction the speck of gold glinted and he narrowed his eyes.

No. It wasn’t _gold._ Similar though. It was an object bobbing in the water off in the distance, too far away to see the details, but close enough to—

“Shit.” Bellamy’s heart jumped into his throat and his hands curled around the rusted metal railing. “Someone’s out there.”

“What!?”

“There!” He pointed in the direction of the bobbing object. _A person._ The longer he stared at it— _them_ —the more certain he was. The golden object was a _head of blonde hair._

A wave of panic was engulfing him, making his blood rush, sending his heart racing, his mind spinning. Someone was out there without a boat—in the middle of the _fucking ocean._

“Fuck.” Octavia stumbled backwards, as if the delivery of the news knocked out her wind. “Who—”

“Does it matter?” His eyes were wild when he turned to her. A half-assed plan was forming amongst the panic and adrenaline. “Get Luna.”

“Wha—”

“Do it, Octavia,” he snapped. Before he could turn back to the water, Octavia was rushing forward to grab hold of his collar.

“And what the fuck are _you_ going to do!?”

There wasn’t any time to waste.

He yanked out of her grasp, grabbed the ring buoy along the railing, and jumped over the edge.

His vision blurred as he plummeted towards the water below. The wind whistled in his ears, silencing the world around him. His heart pounded rapidly in his chest. His eyes stung. His stomach rolled.

And, _finally,_ he hit the water. His skin stung with the impact. Water rushed up his nose. His body heat vanished, the icy cold tendrils of water seemingly wrapping around his core. He struggled to get his bearings, the falling having been uncoordinated and graceless.

He broke through the surface gasping, but already moving. He sputtered as he kicked in the general direction of the person lost at sea, desperate for air, but equally desperate to save whoever needed his help.

With each stride, he grew more confident. The water was his _home._ This was where he was _safe._ This was where he _flourished._

His arms ached. He didn’t know how long he had been swimming for. The rig was growing smaller the further he got. The water was cold, making his skin feel tight, making his body ache. Bellamy began to doubt what he saw, until—

“Help!” It was the sound of a woman, not far away; he wouldn’t have been able to hear it otherwise. 

It was next to impossible that he was able to find his way to her in the middle of the ocean without a guide; it was as if the ocean was pulling them together.

Her voice was panicked and it made him redouble his efforts. She kept calling, her voice cutting in and out as she choked on water. Bellamy’s heart thudded in his chest, still too fast. When the water was pulled beneath him and he rose on a crest, he caught a glimpse of her.

Despite being soaked and screaming, she was beautiful. Her blonde hair was glued flat against her head and hung in her face. Her blue eyes were wide with fear. Her lips were pale from what he assumed was the freezing temperatures. _And, yet, she took his breath away._

“Hey!” Bellamy fought against the changing tides, desperate to get to her side. _“Hey!”_ At his second shout, her frantic gaze turned to his. “I’m here to help. Are you okay?” It was a ridiculous question to ask, considering she looked seconds away from sinking below the surface. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” Her head dipped below the surface of the water for a brief minute before bobbing back up. “I can’t— I—” Her movements were frantic and unpredictable, all the tell-tale signs of a drowning being.

“Listen,” he said sharply. “Remain calm, alright? You’ll be okay.” She coughed frantically. Bellamy was tempted to dive towards her, screwing what he was taught. He didn’t. “I will toss you a ring—grab it!”

Without waiting for a response, he tossed her the buoy. As soon as her arms were around it, he was swimming towards her again. 

“Don’t let go!”

“My legs—” Her head dipped below the water, “—from the pod—”

Below the water, he could see an orange tarp wrapped around her legs, hindering her ability to stay afloat. It looked like a deflated floatation device, which explained how she managed to get so far into the ocean without being a strong swimmer.

Bellamy dove below the surface and pulled at the material. With a few sharp kicks from her, he managed to untangle the nylon from around her legs. As soon as it was detached, it began sinking quickly into the dark depths.

When he broke through the surface again, she was choking on water. He pulled her back flush to his chest, angling their bodies so both of their faces were pointed to the sky. She was as cold as ice and he wondered how long she’d been out here. She sputtered and gasped in his arms.

“You’re okay,” he promised her. His arm tightened around her waist momentarily. “You’re okay.” 

Bellamy glanced in the direction he came, back towards the rig, and felt relief flood his system when he saw a fishing boat approaching them. He recognized Octavia at the helm, her black hair whipping in the wind.

The woman’s fingers dug into his forearm. Her body was limp against his, clearly exhausted from having to stay afloat for so long. It was a miracle he made it to her in time. Another second longer, and it likely would’ve been a very different story.

“I’m Bellamy,” he said as soon as she managed to suck in several long breaths.

Her voice was scratchy when she spoke. “Clarke.”

 _Clarke._ He didn’t recognize her, nor did he recognize the name. She wasn’t from Floukru—at least not the group on the rig. She could’ve been from one of the terrestrial groups, but what was she doing out here?

He didn’t want to ask her. Not here. Not when they were in the middle of the ocean, seconds away from drowning. Not when he was keeping both of them afloat. Not when she almost died.

So, he didn’t.

Instead, he pressed his forehead against the back of her head, hoping the action brought her some sense of comfort.

“You’re okay,” he promised her again.

_They were okay._

* * *

_**ii.** _

It was after the healers deemed the mysterious woman from the ocean _—Clarke—_ healthy enough that a meeting with Luna was called. Bellamy hadn’t been able to sleep since he found her in the water, the events leading up to the moment they were hauled into the boat playing in his head over and over.

_Clarke._

He didn’t know anything else about her. As soon as they were pulled onto the fishing boat by Derrick, she fell unconscious and hadn’t woken up until she was in their med bay.

He didn’t know her, but _he worried for her._ It was irrational, but he couldn’t stop her from consuming his thoughts. He was tempted to check on her, but Octavia kept him away, reminding him that they didn’t know her.

Which was why, when he saw her in the council room, he couldn’t stop staring.

_She looked different._

Without the panic distorting her features, she looked even more breathtaking than she did when he first saw her. Her eyes were filled with so much light and so much life—it was a stark contrast to the day before. Her hair was pulled back into a braid; hair that was a lighter blonde than he originally thought. Her lips were red, as were her cheeks, and that simple fact made a warmth fill his chest.

_She was alive. She was okay._

Bellamy watched as she reached down to the red cloth wrapped around her wrist, hiding her soulmark from prying eyes. She adjusted it a few times, pulling the edges flat against her skin and—

Clarke’s gaze shot to his, as if she sensed he was openly watching her. Her hands fell to her lap and she cocked an eyebrow in question. The smile that followed warmed Bellamy even further, making it impossible not to return the grin.

 _Fuck._ She was gorgeous.

Luna sat at the head of the table, her face expressionless and her gaze calculating. Bellamy would always be thankful towards Luna for taking them in when they had nowhere else to go, but he would be lying if he said she didn’t terrify him. Even as a member of the council on the oil rig, she was intimidating.

“I’m Luna, the leader of these people, the founder of Floukru,” she introduced herself, her gaze locked on Clarke’s. Bellamy watched her closely, inexplicably drawn towards her. She didn’t flinch from her cold gaze, nor did she shy away from her strong words. “Who are you?”

“My name is Clarke.”

“...of?”

“I’m just Clarke.”

Luna pressed her lips together. “You must come from somewhere, Clarke.”

“I’m sure I do.” 

“Where were you before you came here?” 

“I was in the water.” It was technically the truth, in an evasive way. Luna’s eyes narrowed. Bellamy tensed, knowing she was nearing the end of her patience.

“Clarke, I am just trying to understand the situation. We mean you no harm; there is no reason to lie to us. One of our own saved you. We have given you resources; medical attention, shelter, clothing, food.” Luna lifted an eyebrow cooly. “Please, tell us. Where are you from?”

“I don’t know.”

“She could be _Louwoda Kliron Kru,”_ one of the council members pointed out. “We were expecting several _spika_ from the valley this month.”

They watched for Clarke’s reaction.

“I don’t know.”

Luna tapped her fingers impatiently, but kept her expression cool nonetheless. “You don’t want to tell us? Fine. Answer this, though; _how did you find us?”_

Clarke’s resolve cracked. She shifted uneasily under Luna’s steady gaze. Her stare broke away from Luna’s for a brief moment. “I… I don’t know.”

Bellamy’s stomach twisted with this. The rig’s location wasn’t known by anyone, outside of a select few. It was kept hidden from all other clans to protect people like him; to protect people hunted by others, to protect people targeted by the Commander’s Kill Orders, to give people a second chance.

 _She shouldn’t have known where the rig was._ Did other clans know the location? Were they not safe here anymore?

He knew the same thoughts were running through Luna’s mind. While she kept her emotions masked, he could see the tension in her shoulders. She was frustrated and cracking.

“Clarke, I will give you _one more chance to answer,”_ she hissed. “We do not give the location of our clan out to anyone. Only my most trusted advisors know where we are located and, I can assure you, you are not one of them. We house vulnerable people. We _protect_ them. Our _secrecy protects them._ Do you understand?” Luna leaned forward, her eyes filled with fire as bright as her hair. “I need to know where you discovered the location of our home. You will not be punished, I promise you. But I _need_ to know, to keep my people safe. You understand, don’t you?”

There was a long pause. Bellamy couldn’t take his gaze off of Clarke, watching as her expression shifted minutely.

Finally, she spoke.

“I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” Luna said, her voice growing lower.

For a brief moment, her gaze flicked to his, and returned to Luna’s in the same second. Bellamy was almost convinced he imagined it all.

_But, if he imagined it, why did it feel like the breath was stolen from his lungs?_

“I don’t know because I don’t remember,” Clarke said, her chin lifting defiantly. “I… I don’t remember anything other than my name.”

 _That_ caused the room to grow silent. Tension mounted.

Luna’s eyebrows rose in surprise, her expression cracking from the shock of her answer. The several other council members shifted uneasily around him. He fought to keep his expression neutral; a task he was failing miserably at.

“The first thing I remember is the ocean,” Clarke recalled. “I don’t know what came before. I remember fighting the water though, trying to stay above it. I remember seeing this place—your home—in the distance. I remember calling for help. And I remember Bellamy rescuing me.”

At the mention of his name, Luna’s hard gaze turned to him. A chill went up his spine.

“That’s right,” she said. “I almost forgot. You were the first to get to our… _guest._ Right, Bellamy?”

He didn’t doubt that she remembered this exact information, but had been waiting for a moment to bring it up.

“You’re correct.”

“And how did you come to find our guest?”

Bellamy retold the story that had been running on loop in his mind. How he spotted her in the distance, how he didn’t hesitate to jump off the rig, how he was thankful he had been on the lowest platform, how he managed to keep both him and Clarke afloat until Octavia reached them in the fishing boat.

“It was luck,” he summarized, having no explanation for it all. It was pure luck that he spotted her from the rig, just as it was luck that he found her in time in the water.

Satisfied with his answer, Luna turned back to Clarke. “And you don’t remember anything else? You just remember… _swimming?”_

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” Luna pressed. “You don’t remember waking up on shore? You don’t remember entering the water?”

“No.”

“Do you remember any other details?”

Clarke didn’t waver. “No.”

_Except, Bellamy knew that was a lie._

He remembered every exchange they had. He remembered how many times she called for help, he remembered how her fingers felt like ice against his arm, he remembered diving below the surface to untangle her legs from orange nylon, and he remembered what she said right before he did.

_‘My legs. From the pod.’_

Whatever was wrapped around her legs had been from a pod, whatever the hell that was. He knew _very well_ that she remembered more than just swimming; she remembered what came before, too.

Luna’s gaze settled on him again. “What about you, Bellamy? Anything to add?”

His eyes met Clarke’s blue ones. Understanding passed between them.

A beat, then—

“No.”

.

As they were leaving the conference room, Bellamy jogged to catch up to Clarke.

“Come with me,” he requested, his voice low.

She didn’t ask questions.

He led them onto the deck, away from prying ears. If Luna knew he was withholding information, he wasn’t too sure what she would do to him or Octavia. He couldn’t afford to be on her bad side though. _None of them could._

She was stiff as they walked onto the deck, and Bellamy didn’t know if it was from the unforgiving wind or because of the thick tension between them. They remained several paces away from each other as they made their way to the railing.

He reached the edge of the rig first and peered over. The sky was alight with stars and the water was restless below them. A storm was brewing; he could tell in the way the water moved, despite the sky looking clear of clouds.

It always amazed him, how the world could be so calm one minute and shift into chaos the next. The ocean was a sharp reminder that the world could change in an instant, regardless if they were ready for it. _He knew this fact well._

His thoughts spiralled with memories of blood of his enemies on his hands and blades of his friends pressed to his neck. He hoped for a wave to crash against the side of the rig, desperate for the salt water to wash his thoughts away, just like it did all those years ago when he first arrived on the rig.

Clarke cleared her throat. “You wanted to speak with me?”

He didn’t glance away from the horizon. 

“You lied.”

“Excuse me?”

Bellamy _felt_ the shift between them. A weight settled across his shoulders as her tone turned chilled and sharp.

Still, he didn’t waver.

“You lied in there, Clarke.” She didn’t dare breathe. “I know you remember more than what you told Luna.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her reaction. He watched the wind whip her hair against her cheeks, and her expression turn to one of stone as she hid her features, and her eyes fill with fire. 

She was a stranger to him, but he understood her in this moment. She wore an expression he’d seen hundreds of times before. _She was a fighter. She was fire._ She wasn’t going to take his accusation without lifting her fists.

“Please,” she said, her voice as low as a hiss, “by all means, tell me what I do and don’t remember. I’m so glad you know my memories better than I do.”

He knew her words well, too. _She was cornered._ She was cornered and scared.

This was when he finally pulled his gaze from the horizon. Just like in the council room, their eyes met for a charged beat.

She was the one to break the stare. She scoffed and turned her back to him. “I don’t know who you think you are, but—”

“Who _I_ am?” he questioned. He laughed humorlessly. “You know _exactly_ who I am. The question I’m trying to figure out is _who are you?”_ Her knuckles were white from how hard she was gripping the metal railing in front of her. When she didn’t speak, he continued. “I am Bellamy kom Floukru. I am one of Luna kom Floukru’s council members. I _rescued you_ yesterday, and I’ve been replaying those minutes at sea _over and over_ in my head _all night._ Out there, when you were about to go beneath the waves, you said something about a pod.”

Clarke didn’t move an inch. He wasn’t sure she was even breathing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you remember more than just swimming. You remember being alone out there. You remember when I found you. Yet, you don’t remember the tarp wrapped around your legs, dragging you under?”

“There wasn’t a tarp,” Clarke insisted, turning back towards him. Her stance demanded power and her expression demanded compliance.

“There was, and we both know it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said again, her voice staying strong. Tension grew along with the silence. Neither one of them were going to back down. Clarke lifted her eyebrows in challenge. “But let’s just say you’re right, for argument's sake. If you think I remember more than what I said in there, why not call me on it? Why wait until your leader allows me to stay here as a guest to question me about it?”

_It was a good question—a question he had been asking himself ever since he lied to Luna._

It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t strategic. _But it felt right._ How could he explain this to her when it barely made sense to himself?

“I thought you might have a good reason for lying,” he said, and that was true enough. “I’m going to be honest with you, Clarke.”

“Oh, you’re just starting?”

“You’re not a good swimmer,” he continued, ignoring her. “If you didn’t need to be out here, for whatever reason you have, you wouldn’t be out here. Maybe you’re running. Maybe you did bad things. I don’t give a fuck. Whatever the reason, you think you need to lie about your past to stay here and stay safe. I think you’re looking for a place to start over, to start fresh, and the best way to do that is to run from your past. You’re _hiding.”_

Her lip curled into a sneer. “Know from experience?”

It was supposed to be an attack. It was meant to get _him_ on the defensive and lash out at her. _And he wanted to, he really wanted to, but—_

It was the truth.

It was the truth, _and he decided to leave all his anger behind when he chose to follow Luna._ Her way of life was about surrendering oneself to the sea, allowing the salt water to cleanse and wash away all anger.

Maybe he thought that was bullshit half the time, but he was desperately clinging to Luna’s lessons as he dealt with the woman in front of him.

“We’re all monsters here, Clarke. We are all the villains in other people’s stories; myself included. Floukru gives people a second chance. You’re wondering why I didn’t call you on it? _Because you lied for a reason._ I’ll give you the same benefit of the doubt that people gave me when I first got here.” He took a step towards her. “But if you hurt anyone here— _if you endanger anyone I love_ —I won’t hesitate to turn you in. Got it?”

Clarke lifted her chin. “Got it.”

“So, let me be clear. You don’t have to tell me details, but you have to tell me the truth. I will do the same for you. Okay?” She hesitated. His jaw tightened, already growing tired of her games. “I can always just turn you in now, seeing as—”

“Fine,” she snapped.

_It was a deal._

He blew out a long breath and released the tension in his shoulders. “Start with this; do you remember anything before the ocean?”

She hesitated again. The muscles in her jaw tensed. For a long moment, Bellamy was convinced she wasn’t going to answer. Then—

“Yes.”

 _His gut-feeling had been right._ She knew more than she was telling them.

“This is important, Clarke; how did you find us? I need to know if we’re in danger. What Luna said was the truth—our clan is made up of vulnerable people and people on the run. If anyone found out where we are, people will die.”

_He would die. Octavia would die. Luna would—_

“I told the truth,” she cut in. “I don’t know how I found the rig. It was… luck.” Neither of them spoke for a long moment. She was the one to break the silence. “Listen, Bellamy, I— I’m not here to hurt anyone, alright? I just… I need a fresh start.”

He sensed she wasn’t telling the whole truth.

He decided not to push, and hoped that he wouldn’t come to regret this.

* * *

_**iii.** _

Bellamy hated celebrations.

Unfortunately, as a council member, he was obligated to attend every fucking party held on the rig, including the one he was currently at. Although, this one was bound to be less tortuous than others, considering it was held in celebration of Clarke’s arrival.

He sat beside Luna at the head table, watching as couples twirled around the courtyard. The stars were bright above them and the moon gave them enough light to continue the festivities late into the night. Most nights, he almost wished for cloud coverage, just so he wouldn’t have to sit there any longer. But tonight—

_Tonight was different._

He couldn’t take his eyes off Clarke. At first, he chalked up his interest in her to the fact he _needed_ to keep an eye on her. It was his duty to make sure his people were safe. He was the only one who knew her secret, and it was a secret that he was choosing to keep. Whatever course she decided on was on his shoulders just as much it was on hers.

_She was his responsibility._

It was when the sun disappeared beyond the horizon and the moon shone brightly above them that Bellamy began to doubt his reasons.

Maybe he couldn’t take his eyes off of her because she was ethereal.

_No._

No, that wasn’t right.

He was doing his duty to his people.

She was simply a responsibility.

_Nothing more._

This was how he knew she had been stuck dancing with the same man for more than half the night. At the end of every song, she’d take a step back and attempt to flee, only to be pulled back in for another dance. 

Finn had a way of doing that.

When the moon was at its peak, he had enough of watching the torture. Before Finn could grab her hand and drag her back in for another dance, he stepped forward.

“Finn,” Bellamy greeted, “I believe Roma is looking for you.”

He scrunched up his nose. “Roma? But she’s—”

“—over by the clams.” Before Finn could argue more, he turned to Clarke, his eyebrow lifted. “I’m sure Clarke won’t mind the interruption. Won’t you, Clarke?”

She looked at him for a long moment. He kept his expression impassive and hoped Finn was oblivious to the clear tension between them.

Finn wasn’t as clueless as Bellamy hoped. He glanced between them warily, his fingers already curling around her elbow in what he must’ve thought was a protective or reassuring way. Bellamy’s skin crawled.

“Don’t give in to him,” Finn told her, grinning mildly. “I’m sure Bellamy can see just how much fun we’re having and wouldn’t want to interrupt.”

Clarke’s eyes flashed to his for a brief moment. She inched out of Finn’s grasp.

“Actually, I was hoping to dance with Bellamy and show him.... my appreciation.” Her gaze flicked to Finn’s. “Bellamy is the one that pulled me from the ocean. I think a thanks is in order.”

He knew she was good at lying; she’d been doing it ever since her icy fingers curled around his in the water. _But the way she looked at him,_ with her eyes full of warmth and her smile full of life, _it made his breath catch in his chest._ She hated him, he knew this, and yet—

—yet, she managed to look at him like he was the sun.

(He hated how he wished this was real, just for the briefest moment.)

“Maybe next song, then?” Finn questioned.

Clarke’s smile turned forced when she looked back at him. “Maybe.”

They stayed frozen as Finn made his way out of earshot, with Clarke’s hand hooked around his elbow and his heart tattooing a pattern onto his ribs. Finally, when Finn had disappeared into the mass of the crowd, she turned to look at him.

The warmth and spark from earlier was gone.

He swallowed thickly and put space between them.

“I thought you might need a hand,” he explained, his voice losing some of the familiarity he used earlier. “Finn has a talent of bothering anybody in arm’s reach.”

She tilted her head to the side. “You were watching me?”

_Fuck._

Before he could respond, she stepped closer to him, her arms lifting into the standard dancing position. She stood there, waiting.

“I thought you promised me a dance?”

“To give you a chance to escape a certain someone. I wasn’t—” _serious,_ he wanted to say. _I wasn’t serious._

But, in fact, _she_ was serious. 

Clarke still stood, waiting for him to join her on the dance floor. He stepped towards her, his own hands settling on her waist and cupping her hand. He noted how much warmer her touch was now that they weren’t drowning in the ocean. It was hard not to smile at that.

They began to move across the courtyard, blending in with the dozens of other couples. He learned the steps to this dance when he first arrived, but his movements weren’t as natural as Finn’s, who danced far more than he did. Briefly, he wondered if Clarke could feel how much more uncoordinated he was.

The tension didn’t ease his worries.

She could barely look at him as they moved. Her body was tensed under his hand. The space between them was as large as physically possible, reminding him of when children were forced to pair up for their first lessons.

It was uncomfortable, and heavy, and _she hated him._

He could see it plain across her face now that Finn was gone.

Bellamy didn’t know why, but it made his heart hurt. He could feel it in his chest, the way his chest seemed to grow heavy, flooding his veins with an ache.

 _Her feelings made sense, didn’t they?_ The last time they spoke, he threatened to turn her into Luna if she had dishonourable intentions. Hell, he even assumed that _she_ was a dishonourable person and willing to hurt those around her.

Maybe he was keeping her secret, but he made it very clear he didn’t want to be.

A whole song had passed at this point and, suddenly, he was filled with a desperation to say something— _anything._

Just as the instruments were fading and Clarke was slowing, words flew from his mouth.

“I didn’t tell anybody.” 

She stilled at that, her hand tightening on his shoulder. 

Their eyes locked.

“I didn’t tell anybody about our conversation on the deck, and I’m not going to.”

A new song started back up and they continued to move around the courtyard. She didn’t say anything for a long time, clearly thinking. Bellamy studied her expression as they moved, noting the crease between her eyebrows and the tightness of her jaw. It was clear that she had practice keeping her emotions guarded behind a wall.

_He knew that feeling well._

“You seemed so sure that I was dangerous last week,” she told him. “What changed?”

“Nothing.” Clarke seemed surprised at that. “You very well _might_ be dangerous. You might not be. I don’t know and I don’t think I will ever know.”

_Unless you stay here. Unless we know each other longer than a handful of weeks. Unless I stay alive long enough to find out._

“Why, then?” she pressed. “Why not tell Luna? Why not _warn someone_ that a wolf is here? Why keep on saving me when it’s so clear you want me gone?”

He was so shocked that he couldn’t form words.

“You saved me from the ocean, and then you saved me from your leader. Tonight, you saved me from Finn. Why not just let me suffer if you hate me so much?”

 _That_ pushed him into action.

“Hate you?” he echoed. “Clarke, I don’t _hate you.”_

“You’re _very_ convincing.”

“I don’t.” His laugh was breathless. She looked annoyed. “I don’t want you gone. I just want my people _safe.”_ The eye contact they shared was intense enough to steal the breath from his lungs; both of them clearly were searching for something in the other. “Clarke, if I wanted you gone, why would I be _lying_ for you?”

She said nothing.

“I’m risking _everything_ for you.” He inched towards her and lowered his voice. “If Luna found out that you were lying and that I knew about it… I’d be kicked off her council. I’d lose my seat. I’d lose my _place on the rig._ She gives second chances, yes, but not a third or fourth. She has strict rules about lying and endangering the rig—for good reason, but _still._ I’m risking everything to keep this secret for you.”

Her eyes were defiant. “Why do it then? I’m nothing to you. It would be easy to turn me in.”

_Except, she wasn’t nothing to him._

Even when she was nothing more than a golden glint on the horizon, she was _everything_ to him. She was a life, and that alone was worth saving. Even when she was lying to the woman who saved him from the Commander’s kill order, she was worth saving. He knew what it was like to be a dead man walking, and he wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

Bellamy swallowed thickly and wet his lips. The room felt suffocating. Her gaze was piercing.

When he did speak, he spoke slowly. “I have done horrible things before,” he said. “When Luna took me in, I made a promise to myself—no more killing. Nobody is going to die by my hand; doesn’t matter if their death is caused by my action or inaction. When I saw you at sea, I couldn’t let you die because I was too scared to jump into the water. When you _lied,_ I couldn’t let you die by calling you out. I wouldn’t. I _won’t.”_ He was surprised at just how honest his words were. Bellamy studied her face, looking for the signs of panic or disgust he was sure to come. “Think I’m a monster yet?”

“You said it yourself; we’re all monsters here.” Her eyebrows rose the slightest bit. “Besides, what you said doesn’t make you a monster.”

“I just told you I’ve killed people. I’m not a good guy.”

“Maybe there are no good guys. I sure as hell am not one.” It was a loaded statement; one that they couldn’t get into. Not yet.

His hand flexed on her side. “I don’t hate you and I don’t want you gone. I’m not going to do anything to put you in danger, not when I’m risking so much to keep you safe. Got it?”

Bellamy’s words were so much softer than they had been the previous week on the deck. Their tongues were sharp, their words like knives, their eyes filled with flames.

And now—

Now, something had seemingly settled over them. An understanding, maybe.

They continued to move across the dancefloor and the silence between them eased into something more comfortable.

By the time they parted ways that night, Finn was long gone and the sky had turned a deep purple with sunrise.

* * *

_**iv.** _

“Fuck the Commander,” Octavia snapped. “I don’t care what she says. You staying here will kill you.”

“That’s kind of exactly what she wants.” 

He pulled his jacket tighter around his shoulders. He wasn’t sure how he was going to put up with Octavia for the next several hours on a boat. He could barely put up with her right then and, technically, he could flee whenever he wanted.

“She won’t even know you’re back on main land though,” she reasoned. He lost track of how many times he heard this exact argument from her. Her hope was quickly turning into desperation with each passing day. His desperation had died out long ago; with two weeks until his birthday, he knew his fate, and he was okay with it. “She barely knows what you look like.”

“But Indra does,” he argued. “And if Indra sees me back home, she will turn me over to Polis.”

“Then don’t go back home.” He stared at her for a long moment. They both very well knew that they _had_ to go through Trikru territory to get off the rig. “Fine. Then take me with you, okay? I can fight if needed, and—”

“I’m not bringing you into this more than I already have,” he said, his voice turning hot. He turned to her. “Just… let it go, Octavia. Stop trying to run from this. _It’s happening._ My time is up. Get used to it. I know I have.”

She threw the worn stack of maps at his back when he attempted to walk away. “You’re a fucking dick, Bellamy.” He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, hurt blossoming across his whole body. “You just don’t fucking care and it fucking sucks.”

“Octavia—”

By the time he turned back around to face her, she was already stalking away. Her hands were balled up into fists and her whole body shook—from sobs, from anger, from something else; he didn’t know.

 _I’m the one dying,_ he wanted to call after her. _I’m the one whose life is going to be over. Not yours._

Instead, he grit his teeth and kneeled to pick up the stack of maps from the ground. Some of the pages were damp from where they landed. The high tide was in an hour, causing the floor of the boathouse he stood on to be partially flooded. At least a wave hadn’t swept away the maps of the ocean currents and surrounding land masses he’d carefully drawn by hand.

It was because of the impending high tide that he assumed the boathouse would be empty. The only reason he was down there was because he needed to attempt some charting, otherwise he’d be with everyone else and keep his feet dry.

It was why, when he saw familiar golden hair in the corner of his vision, his heart lodged itself in his throat from utter shock.

Clarke dropped to her knees beside him, helping him gather the maps quickly. His hands froze as he watched her, too shocked to do anything else. Seconds before a wave washed up along the metal dock, she picked up the final piece of parchment. Both of their legs became soaked with salt water.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” 

She studied the maps in her lap in fascination. 

“I didn’t know you were down here,” he said. They both stood, but her eyes never left the map in her hands. He peered over the edge of the paper, wanting to know which one she was looking at. “That one’s from last winter. I’m trying to predict weather patterns, but—”

“I see. You made these?” she questioned, her eyes snapping to his. “They’re beautiful.”

He ignored the way her compliment made his heart beat a little faster.

“I’m not an artist by any means.”

She glanced at him. “You might not be an artist, but _I am.”_ She flipped to the next map. “They’re good. Really good. This one here— you’re studying fish migration paths, aren’t you?”

He glanced at his work and confirmed she was right. “You know how to read maps?” He cringed at how insensitive he sounded. “I just meant— You’re not from Floukru and you’re clearly not used to water, so I just assumed—”

Clarke smirked and handed the stack maps back to him. “I had a teacher before I came here. Pike. He made sure his students were well-versed with map making and reading, among other skills. He didn’t know where we would end up.”

“Sounds like a smart guy.”

“In some regards, yes. Others, no. He was a good teacher at least. It’s how I got this far.” Another wave washed across their feet. “You’re going out there now?”

“All part of the job.” He gestured to the fishing boat behind him, where half of his and Octavia’s supplies for the day were already packed. “I might not be the best artist, but I know the ocean well enough, and I’m one of the strongest swimmers in case something goes wrong.”

 _Besides,_ he wanted to say, _I need to finish this last project before it’s too late._ He’d need to go out every day for the next week if he wanted that to happen.

Something changed in Clarke’s expression. 

“You’re going alone?”

“Octavia usually comes with me.”

She frowned. “But— Isn’t that dangerous?”

“What? Going out alone? Sure, but I’ve done it hundreds of times before—”

“No,” she insisted, her eyes finally meeting his. “Going out at _all.”_

It was at this moment that Bellamy recognized the expression on her face. She wasn’t just wary or concerned, she was _terrified._ It was the same expression she had when he first found her at sea.

_She was scared of the water._

It made sense and he felt so clueless for not realizing it before. It was so clear that the only experience she had with the water was the one he had to save her from. She’d never been on a boat before and she didn’t know how to swim— _of course she would be terrified._

He had been terrified too, when he first got there. The ocean could be cruel, especially to those that didn’t know any better.

“Come with me.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could think twice.

Her eyes snapped to his and— _yes._ She was definitely scared.

“If you’re going to be living on the rig, you should know how to use a boat. I’ll teach you,” he said. “Besides, I need an artist. Someone needs to take measurements while someone records and charts it all and, since Octavia isn’t coming with me, I’m a few hands short.”

“I don’t know…” She glanced towards the boat again, her lips pinching tight. “I’ve never—”

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” he promised. He turned his head to hide the mysterious flush that washed across his cheeks. It was a childish notion to think she’d feel comfortable doing something that terrified her just because she’d be with him. “I’ve been out every week for the last four years and nothing’s ever gone wrong. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

For some horrible reason, his cheeks wouldn’t stop burning.

 _Fuck,_ what was he doing?

When their eyes met again, something soft washed through him. The tension in his shoulders eased.

“You promise?” she asked.

“With everything in me.”

.

That first day on the water, her knuckles were white from gripping the sides of the boat so tight. He talked her through the motions, hoping that the familiarity in his voice would ease some of her concerns.

She didn’t make any marks on the map and Bellamy did both jobs, happy enough to have company for the several long hours they spent at sea. They spent the whole time talking—a routine they would soon gain over the course of the week.

And, when they returned back to the rig, he couldn’t help but feel _proud,_ in a way, that her shoulders weren’t as tensed as they had been only hours before.

.

The next day, Octavia was still ignoring him.

Clarke met him in the boathouse as he was loading his supplies, wearing a more hopeful and less terrified expression this time.

While drifting in the currents, Clarke let out a startled sound and lurched sideways, nearly knocking the oars off the side of the boat. Bellamy managed to keep hold of the oars and lunged to keep Clarke righted in her seat. His hand, which was gripping her bicep, became covered by her own palm. He could feel her shaking against his touch, clearly afraid of something.

“What is that!?” she hissed. Bellamy followed her wide gaze out into the water just in time to see—

He let out a breathless laugh.

“Holy shit.”

She turned to him, her eyes wide. “I swear, if that’s a flesh eating _snake_ in the water, I’m going to—”

“It’s a dolphin.” 

Bellamy dropped his grip from Clarke’s bicep and inched towards the side of the boat, his eyes never leaving the animal just below the surface. He hadn’t seen a dolphin in Floukru water since the second summer—they were rare this far north. 

He admired the animal as it swam. It was hard to make out the details; it simply looked like a dark ink blot amongst the deep water. As the animal approached the surface, the dark mass grew larger and colour ran back into it and—

“Clarke,” he urged, “you have to see this!”

She was plastered against the other side of the boat still, her eyes wide with panic and her hands gripping the edge tight enough to look painful. He held his hand out in her direction and tried to convey his excitement.

“It’s not going to hurt you,” he promised her. “Most people don’t get to see this in their lifetime.”

Hesitantly, Clarke joined him at the side of the boat, her grip wringing the life from his hand.

“They’re usually in warmer waters,” Bellamy explained. He leaned closer to her and pointed out the features. “That’s the nose and the tail and the dorsal fin.”

The boat rocked when she moved too far over the edge. Bellamy tugged her hand back, keeping her from accidentally overturning the boat. Together, they watched as the dolphin broke the surface only meters away from the boat. She let out a breathless laugh as water rained down on them.

Bellamy snuck a look at her out of the corner of his eye, admiring the way she seemed to come alight with joy. Not only did she throw her head back from the force of her laughter, but she threw her whole body into it. Her shoulders curled in, and her palms turned to the sky, and her chin tilted to meet the onslaught of water.

Later that evening, in the dining hall on the rig, he had to hide his smile in his cup as she chatted excitedly to anyone who would listen about how the dolphin was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen.

.

The third day they spent on the water, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. It was the first time she opened one of the blank pieces of parchment and started to draft rough outlines of the current patterns.

The sun was brutal that day and the heat ran their canteens empty before she managed to make more than ten marks on the page.

“Is it always like this?” Clarke asked as they rowed back to the rig. 

She held a few maps on top of her head, shielding herself from the sharp rays of sun. The colour in her cheeks reminded him of the vibrancy of the setting sun, rivalling the bright red cloth tied around her wrist. 

“It isn’t as bad in the winter,” he promised her. He thought back to all the years he and Octavia spent doing exactly this; rowing out to sea, charting the waters, marking maps, and dreaming of the mainland.

“Winter,” she echoed, her eyes locked on the water lapping at the sides of the boat. This was an expression he was growing used to; the pure fascination in her eyes, and the hesitation in her shoulders, and the curiosity burning through her. “What is it like?”

The first image he thought of wasn’t the winters spent on the rig, though.

_No._

He thought of the winters spent among the trees.

Bellamy thought of running through slushy mud right after the first thaw, and the way the trees would sag under the weight of snow, and how they’d fall onto their backs and watch the world get covered in a mesmerizing blanket of white. He thought of the thin streams freezing up, and the slick patches of ice hidden under fresh snow, and the time he chased Octavia across a frozen shallow pond when they were kids and oh so innocent.

“Cold,” Bellamy responded. “It’s cold and horrible, but in a beautiful sort of way.” She looked at him, clearly amused. “The water never really freezes where we are. It’s too deep and the currents from the south are too strong for that. The coastlines can freeze though and, if you’re on mainland, you can find frozen lakes and ponds.”

“And what’s so horrible about that?” she countered.

“Depends on where you are, but it can get really dangerous. You could get trapped in a storm or be outside for too long and that’s it, you’re done. Or you could fall through the ice. My mother was _pissed_ that I let O run across the pond by our home. She claimed we could’ve died. She was right, of course.”

“And on the rig?”

“It’s cold. We get some snow, depending on the year, but not like on the mainland.” He noted her creased forehead. “You’ve never seen snow before?”

“No. Never.” She dipped her fingers over the edge of the boat and allowed the water to run through her fingers. “What does it feel like?”

“What? Snow?”

“Mhm.”

“Cold.”

She deadpanned at him. “Bellamy.”

“I’m serious!” he laughed at her disappointed expression. “It’s frozen water, Clarke.”

“I know _that.”_

“It feels just like you’d expect frozen water to feel like.”

She frowned and flicked a few droplets of water in his direction. The coolness felt good against his overheated skin.

“Indulge me then,” she requested. “Pretend I don’t know what frozen water feels like. Paint me a picture.”

“I thought you were the artist.”

_“Bellamy.”_

Her pout did funny things to his heart.

“You want a picture? Fine. Close your eyes.” She didn’t look any more impressed than before. It was a struggle to hide his grin. “You were serious, Clarke, and so am I. Close your eyes.” This time, she complied. He paused as she settled into the boat, her eyes drifting shut and her face tilting towards the sky.

_If he thought she was ethereal while dancing with Finn, she had transcended now._

“Alright,” he breathed, his eyes never leaving her face. “Snow. Snow is like a cold metal cup against your lips. It’s the first taste of frozen fruit after a long day at sea. It’s the first time jumping into the ocean after a week without it or, maybe, it’s like standing on shore as a wave crashes into you. Snow is like standing on deck during a storm, or standing on the rig as the wind whips raindrops onto your skin.” He allowed the water over the edge of the boat to run through his fingers, yet he didn’t look away from Clarke. “It’s _relentless_ and _so cold_ that you would swear you could feel it in your soul a week after. And when it falls on your skin, it’s as fleeting as a castle in the sand during high tides—both returning to _nothingness_ before your eyes.”

She cracked an eye open, peaking at him through her lashes. “And you say you’re not an artist,” she teased.

“No cheating. I’m not done.” Her eyes slid closed again. “It washes the colour of the world away, and makes everything absolute hell to walk on, but it’s _so beautiful_ that no amount of words could begin to describe it and hope to capture every detail.” To finish it off, he said, “snow is cold, and wet, and unpredictable.” 

Then, he pulled his hand out of the water and flicked a few stray droplets onto her face. Clarke let out a loud laugh and recoiled, nearly tipping the boat over. He managed to steady it before it could rock too much, but that did nothing to stop the laughter from spilling from her lips.

_Her lips, stained the colour of fresh raspberries picked in summer._

_Her laugh, so perfect that it reminded him of an untouched blanket of snow._

_Her happiness,_ which was so contagious that it was as if he could feel it in his soul.

Clarke was filled with life, and it was getting harder to pretend that meant nothing to him.

.

The fourth day, she met him at the boathouse, holding her own canteen of water and bent over the boat. It was when the rig was just a spec on the horizon that she spoke for the first time that day.

“—and that’s why you need to angle your boat _towards_ the— what?”

She was studying one of the maps in her lap, constantly looking between whatever was on the page and something in the horizon. Bellamy twisted to attempt to see what she was looking at, but saw nothing of significance.

“That’s an island, isn’t it? Just to the south.” He looked again and narrowed his eyes against the glare of the sun. Sure enough, he spotted the closest landmass to the rig. “You marked two names on here.”

Bellamy paused rowing and leaned across the boat to point on the map. “That one is in English and that one is in Trigedasleng. We call it _Louwoda Sontam;_ Shallow Summer.” When she didn’t show any signs of recognition, he explained. “Trigedasleng… the common language across the Coalition.”

“Coalition?”

It was a stark reminder that she was living in a completely different world than what she knew. Wherever she came from, it wasn’t Floukru. He wasn’t even sure she’d been under the rule of the Commander before she found her way to the rig, and this only confirmed that thought.

“Floukru is one of twelve clans under the Coalition. The _Heda,_ or the Commander, united us. These last few years have been the first time there has widely been peace in a long time.” He watched as she took the news; her shock and fascination quickly was disguised as impassiveness.

A moment stretched between them before he spoke again.

“You can ask me, you know.”

“Hm?”

“You can ask me whatever you want. I’ll tell you.” She looked hesitant. “I’ve been the new one before, and I know that being confused about _everything around you_ makes you feel like you’re drowning.” When she hesitated again, he tried a different approach. “If you’re worried I’ll tell someone what you ask, don’t. _I won’t.”_

She didn't hesitate.

“I know.”

Bellamy set the oars along the side of the boat, allowing the current to pull them on its own path. He wanted to show Clarke that she had his undivided attention if she needed it.

_If she wanted it._

“I wasn’t raised here either,” he said. “I came to Luna’s rig when I was seventeen. I left my home and everything I knew. I was an outsider then, just like you are now. I know what it’s like for everyone to look at you like you’re on display. Everyone’s trying to _figure you out,_ just like you’re trying to figure us out. I know what it’s like to be on the outside looking in.”

They stared at each other for another beat. Maybe it was all in his head, but he could’ve swore he could read her like one of their maps in that moment. He felt tethered to her, even if it was for a passing second.

It struck Bellamy just how much had changed between them over the last few weeks. It was as easy as a moment shared between friends.

_Were they friends?_

He didn’t know.

He might’ve known some of her secrets, but she didn’t know his. They were skirting around the depths of their souls; sharing enough to stay on the surface, but never more than that.

And, really, _did friends ever make him feel this way?_ Did he look at friends the way he looked at her?

Clarke turned back to the map and attempted to pronounce the island name in Trigedasleng, breaking whatever brief moment they shared.

Bellamy tried not to be disappointed.

.

The next day, it rained so hard that it was impossible to leave their quarters.

_Yet, he couldn’t get her off his mind._

Her smile was seemingly seared into the backs of his eyes, as if she was a star he stared at for too long. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she laughed, or the amount of curiosity she had, or the way she looked at the beauty of the ocean when the winds were calm. 

_No,_ Bellamy decided. Friends definitely did not look at each other the way he looked at Clarke.

.

It was on the sixth day that she gave in.

Maybe she could sense the honesty in his words from the other day, or maybe she was so tired of hiding, or maybe it was simply that her curiosity won out.

When they were alone at sea, she questioned everything about Floukru; the food, the music, the dancing. Clarke asked about the world beyond the waves, and the people who lived on the mainland, and how Luna’s rig began and became a safe place. She asked about Trigedasleng and her eyes reminding him of the moon as she listened to his explanations with pure and utter fascination.

He couldn’t help but wonder.

Where did she come from, if she didn’t know what Tondc was like, or if she didn’t know the name of Polis? What had her life been like if she felt she needed to flee to the ocean, despite not knowing that Luna’s rig—and, thus, her second chance—existed?

“Things are so different here,” she said.

 _Different from where?_ he wondered.

Maybe it was selfish, but he ached to know her secrets.

(Maybe a part of him ached to share his own, too.)

It was when the sun was setting and they were returning to the rig that she spoke next.

“Fuck. I don’t belong on the ground. I don’t belong here.” His heart ached from how sad her smile was. He remembered seeing the same one on Octavia’s face when they first arrived on the rig. _He remembered seeing the same one reflected back in the mirror, too._ “I’m just…”

_Running._

_Hiding._

_Trying to move on from past mistakes._

_Starting a new life._

He knew all of those options well.

Too well.

His throat was tight when he nodded. “I know,” he promised. “I am too.”

.

_“Heya. Ai lay ik Klark.”_

“Good,” he praised. “Quicker in the middle though. _Ai laik.”_

_“Ai laik.”_

“Yeah, that’s it. _Ai laik Belomi kom Floukru. Chon yu bilaik?”_

 _“Ai laik Klark.”_ She was already moving to pick up the nearly forgotten map from the bench behind her. “Better?”

“Perfect.”

Maybe the long days out at sea were getting to him because he could’ve swore she _smiled_ at him.

It was gone before it was ever truly there though, and he chalked it up to his imagination.

(Despite being sure that his imagination could never imagine something as beautiful as that smile of hers.)

 _“Yu ste Belomi,”_ she repeated back to him. _“_ You are _Belomi kom Floukru.”_

 _“Eu._ That means yes.”

_“Yu ste Belomi kom Floukru. Yu laik ai lukot.”_

_“Eu._ We are friends,” he repeated back. She grinned.

 _“Kom Floukru,”_ she echoed. “What does it mean?”

“It means I am Bellamy of the Boat People. When someone says _kom Floukru,_ they are stating they’re our people.”

Her gaze flicked to his. _“Our_ people?”

His heart thudded a little harder at that.

 _“Yu ste Klark kom Floukru,”_ he decided. “If you want it. Floukru can be your home.”

“Home,” she echoed, her voice distant. “How do you say that?”

 _“Houm. Floukru ste ai houm._ That means Floukru is my home.”

Her hand hesitated on the page. He imagined that her forehead would be creased with thought and eyes wide with shock right now.

Finally, she spoke.

“I’m not part of your world.”

“You’re as part of this world as any world,” Bellamy told her. “I wasn’t born here either. Floukru is known for taking in people like us, Clarke. We are _splita._ We’re outsiders. None of the teenagers or adults were born in Floukru; we came from everywhere else, all looking for a fresh start. It doesn’t matter where you come from—it just matters that you’re here.”

He didn’t know when his life had changed from desperately ignoring these words to repeating them to this woman.

He didn’t know when he began to believe these words Luna told him all those years ago. He didn’t know when he left all that anger and resentment and _hate_ behind and became _this person._

Clarke set down the piece of charcoal she had been using that day and wiped her fingers along her leg, leaving paths of soot down her skin. He didn’t miss the way her fingers shook, nor did he miss the way she tugged on the red cloth wrapped around her wrist; it was a nervous habit she had gotten into recently.

Despite her clear nerves, she locked eyes with him, and didn’t falter.

“If you knew where I was from,” she said, “then you would think very differently.”

Maybe, once upon a time, that would’ve been true.

_But he couldn’t think of one possibility that could change his perspective on her._

He admired the way she looked at the world with a burning curiosity, and he marvelled at the strength she mustered, even when it was so clear she was scared. She _felt so deeply_ and wasn’t afraid to let it show.

He liked Clarke and every corner of her mind and soul she had allowed him to see.

He _liked_ Clarke.

The realization hit him so suddenly that he could barely form words.

He _really_ liked Clarke.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” he breathed. “You could be from within Polis itself, or from any clan in the Coalition, and it wouldn’t change anything. _Because I know you._ And I know we aren’t simply where we come from. We aren’t a culmination of where we’ve been, or who our families are, or our past mistakes.” His throat felt tight and for a horrible moment he could barely breathe. “If that was the case, then there wouldn’t be any hope for me.” 

Her leg brushed against the side of his.

“You don’t need hope,” she promised him. “Because _I know you,_ and I know you’re already a good man. There’s no need to hope for a future where that’s the case.”

_If only she knew the truth._

.

The water was up to their ankles by the time they returned to the boathouse that day. Bellamy had shown her how to tie the knot to tether the boat to the rig the previous day and he watched her attempt it now; her fingers were clumsy and her movements slow, but she was getting it.

As if she could read his thoughts, her hands slowed to a stop momentarily. A wave crashed against the side of the rigging beyond the bay doors, splattering them both with salt water. For a moment, all they could hear was the faint call of birds, and the rush of the water, and the edge of their boat tapping against the deck.

And, of course, he could hear her.

He didn’t know when he became so attuned to her, but her steady breathing and the hum of her voice and the rustle of her clothes had become _normal_ for him. It had become what his ears strained for between the breaks in conversation and in the lulls of the seagull calls.

Clarke shifted. “You said I could ask you anything, right?”

“Of course.”

She remained kneeling in front of the boat, but turned to look at him. The intensity behind her gaze ripped his heart from his chest.

“Why do you wear your armband?”

He blinked.

“What?”

Her gaze dropped to the black band around his wrist. 

Oh.

_Oh._

In return, Bellamy’s eyes drifted towards the thick red cloth wrapped around her wrist. He noticed it in the council room all those moons ago, but it barely garnered a single thought past that. Covering soulmarks was normal for Floukru and Trikru; it was rare that his attention was drawn towards the cloths wrapped around arms.

 _“Sonraun teina,”_ he said. “That’s Trigedasleng for soulmates. We wear armbands to cover the mark of soulmates.”

Her own fingers trailed to rest across the thick cloth, a pensive expression on her face. “I get that, but I can’t figure out _why._ Why wouldn’t you want people to _see_ your mark?”

He stared at her. “What?”

“I just mean— how else are you going to find your soulmate?”

Bellamy’s mind was trying to put the pieces together but—

_“What?”_

Now it was Clarke’s turn to look confused. “That’s the point of soulmarks, isn’t it? To help you find your soulmate?”

He was definitely missing something here.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She stood, abandoning her half-tied knot around the post. “Soulmarks are there to help you find your soulmate, right? So why would you cover them?”

“Soulmarks— no. No, you find your soulmate by—” Bellamy stopped and tried again. “You find your soulmate by _feeling_ it. In your _soul._ And you confirm it by sharing a kiss. You… You don’t look at marks. Marks are a liability; that’s why we cover them.”

“A liability?” Clarke looked completely thrown by this. “How is it a liability? Everyone has a soulmate— so what if the mark is visible?”

“The cloth is to hide the place where the mark is,” Bellamy explained. “It’s not about the mark itself, not really. It’s about if the mark is there or not.” Her confusion lessened and he continued. “Everyone has a soulmate, yes, but not everyone finds them in time.” _It was a struggle to keep his chest from caving in at that._ “When— _if_ —your soulmate dies before you find them, the mark fades and disappears.”

“Right,” Clarke agreed. “I know that, but I just— I don’t understand I guess.”

“If your soulmate dies, you’re cursed to spend life without them.” His mouth tasted like poison. He desperately wanted to change the conversation, but he _couldn’t,_ not when Clarke was looking at him like this—not when she was _relying on him._ “If another person sees that you’re missing your mark, they pity you. And if enemies see that you still have your mark, they have an advantage over you because they know your weakness. It’s easier to cover them and not deal with _either_ of those possibilities. In Floukru and Trikru, we cover our wrists as soon as we turn eighteen. The only time we uncover them is when we die.” He studied her. “I assume that it’s different from where you come from?”

“Where I come from, it’s rare for people not to find their soulmates,” Clarke explained. “We have a small population. Every spring, there’s something called Unity Days, and part of that celebration is uniting soulmate couples. If you don’t find them when you’re eighteen, it’s assumed you’ll unite with them the next year, or the year after. I’ve only known _one person_ to die because they turned twenty-one before finding their soulmate, and that was because their soulmate was in the Sky Box. That’s our delinquent detention centre.”

“And soulmarks?”

“Are left uncovered. We all have the same markings on our wrist and most of us find a match before we turn twenty-one, so there isn’t a point in hiding our marks. If someone’s mark disappears, the loss of a match is honoured, and life moves on.”

It was simple, almost too simple for Bellamy to believe. The fact that there was a place out there that approached soulmates so differently to the world he lived in was startling.

_Maybe if he had grown up in the world that Clarke was from, where that might’ve been, he wouldn’t be hurdling towards his death._

Clarke’s gaze settled on his covered wrist and a weight settled in the pit of his stomach.

Bellamy almost told her the truth.

_Right then._

_Right there._

He _wanted_ to tell her the truth.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that he was going to die in just over a week. He couldn’t do it, not when he already pushed Octavia away. The one thing keeping him centred was the fact she still looked at him with _hope._

The next wave was so violent that it washed water up to their knees and tugged Clarke’s knot loose. Bellamy lunged after it before the boat could drift to sea. By the time they managed to retie the knot, the moment was over, and that was that.

.

During sunrise the next day, he was practically inhaling one of the canteens of water they brought with him while Clarke flipped through some of the maps he was touching up for the future cartographer of Floukru. She was doing a good job, fixing marks that he messed up and adding details he didn’t think were important to record because _they were in his head; why would he ever need them written down if they were—_

(Maybe because the next cartographer wasn’t going to have the knowledge in his mind when he was gone.)

He watched her for a long second, drinking in the details as she worked on a map. He recognized the one in her hands as the one charting winter ocean currents. Her hands were dusted with charcoal and left smudges on the corners of rolled parchment. Every brush of her hand across the page was so precise and calculated and she turned his haphazard maps into works of art.

“You’re good at this,” Bellamy told her when the silence became too much. Her eyes briefly met his and her faint grin made his heart swoop. “If you plan on sticking around for a while… We should talk to Luna about making you the official cartographer.”

Her smile widened. “That’s _your job,_ Bellamy.” The way she said it, as if it was his job now and would forever be, made his heart lodge in his throat. He uncapped his canteen again, wishing the water running down his throat would wash away the lump too. “You know, I think I will be staying for as long as Luna will let me. _I want to see the snow._ Besides, It’ll be a nice change for us to chart in the winter.”

He didn’t know why _that_ was the thing that broke him.

_But he broke._

There was a brief flash of pain in his chest when he realized that _he wasn’t going to see the next winter._

_Fuck._

He was hit with a wave of grief so strong that he choked on his water. A tidal wave of mourning for the life he was never going to live, for all the winters he was never going to see, for all the things he was never going to do, for all the maps he wasn’t going to get to make—it hit him hard. He doubled over, gasping for breath, suddenly feeling like he was drowning in more ways than one.

_He was going to die._

There had been a brief moment where he _forgot._ Charting the waters with Clarke, spending all day under the sun, showing her the beauty of Floukru territory—it made him forget exactly _why_ he was doing this.

_He barely had a week left._

Clarke’s arm was outstretched towards him, her hand hovering several inches away from his shoulder, but it wouldn’t help. Her touch wasn’t going to will the water from his lungs, just like it wasn’t going to breathe life back into his chest after he was gone.

“Bellamy?” she asked, her voice steady. “Are you okay? Can you—?”

 _No,_ he wanted to scream. _No, I’m not okay. I’m dying._

So, he did.

“No.” He sputtered a few more times. His eyes watered and he knew he couldn’t simply blame it on the aeration of water. “Fuck.” 

She pulled her hand away from him and inched back, most likely wanting to give him space to breathe. There was nothing more in his life that he wanted less than her to move further away from him.

She was watching him intently, with the little crease between her eyebrows, and her lip between her teeth, and her eyes so blue that he could’ve found the seven seas in them.

“I’m not okay.”

“You’re talking; that’s a good sign.”

_He wished it was that simple._

He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, so he focused on the spec of an island off in the distance. It was easier to strain his eyes than to watch her pity him. 

“Do you remember what I said yesterday?”

Without hesitation, she said, “of course.”

His gaze wandered to the red cloth around her arm. It took her a second before her gaze followed his, coming to rest on her wrist. He watched, feeling as though he was suspended six feet above them, as she glanced to his covered mark and back to her own.

“Oh,” she said, and he already knew.

_She understood why he wasn’t okay._

Despite not knowing what world she fled from, she had a mark on her wrist, just like he did—and just like Octavia—and just like John, and Raven, and Jasper, and Monty, and Luna, and—

They cursed people supposedly blessed by the fates, destined to find their soulmate among the world they lived in—supposedly gifted with their one true love, the other half of their soul.

Utter and complete bullshit.

If it was a gift, why did so many people die from this? 

_Why was he dying?_

Clarke didn’t have to ask him for clarification. She knew. Maybe it was written across his face as plainly as the ocean currents were written across the maps.

“You haven’t found them yet,” she breathed. 

His voice was thick with emotion. “No.”

_He didn’t know why they were whispering._

“And your birthday?”

“Next week.”

She hid her pity well, he would give her that. She didn’t look away like he expected her too. She didn’t look at him like he was wrong for charting the ocean with her and not scouring the Earth to find his soulmate. _And she didn’t look at him like he was a dead man._

Bellamy looked away, turning back to where the sky met the sea. He imagined how different his life would be if he could cross over that horizon to the mainland.

 _“Sonraun teina,”_ he said. “Soulmates. Mine’s out there, somewhere, and I’ll never meet them. In eight days, I’ll die, and they’re going to be destined to spend their whole life _alone._ The worst part is, I can’t do anything about it.”

He could tell she was trying to put it together. “You don’t know where they are?”

“I know they aren’t on the rig. They aren’t on the rig and I can’t go to the mainland.”

He wanted to tell her that this was penance for his past mistakes. _That he was paying for his past mistakes now,_ and paying for them with his life. 

Bellamy couldn’t find a reason good enough not to.

“I’m not from here,” he said. “I told you that I came here when I was seventeen, but I didn’t tell you why. People don’t come to Floukru because they grew tired of their old lives; people come to Floukru because they don’t have any other options. _I didn’t have another option.”_ It had been so long since he told anybody about this. The last person had been Luna, the day that he pledged himself to her and Floukru. “I did something that jeopardized the Coalition. I betrayed the Commander’s wishes and she sent _kill orders_ out for me. If I didn’t flee my home, I would’ve been killed. The Coalition has a saying; _jus drein jus daun._ Blood must have blood.”

“An eye for an eye,” Clarke summarized.

“I killed someone and I was expected to pay with my life.” The words left his mouth before he could get a chance to change his mind. Clarke’s expression didn’t shift. “The next Commander is selected from the chosen across all twelve clans. There was this girl, she couldn’t have been more than five, and it got out that she was a _natblida;_ she had the potential to become the next Commander. These children are sent to Polis to train and _fight_ and _die._ From the moment the rider from Polis saw her blood, she was destined to either rule us all or die. I— I couldn’t let that happen, not when I _knew her_ and watched her grow up and.... and so I killed him—the rider. I killed him when he tried to take her, and people who I thought were my friends turned on me. Pretty soon, there was a kill order, and we fled. The only reason I’m still alive is because of Luna. She took me and my sister in when we had nowhere else to go. She protects us.”

“You were one of the people you told me about,” Clarke guessed. “The first day I got to the rig, you told me that the secrecy of Floukru’s location is what protects people they’re hiding. You and Octavia are some of those people.”

His throat grew impossibly tight. “Octavia’s here because of what I did. She had a future in our home, but she left it to follow me to Floukru because _she_ didn’t want to be the one hunting me down.” Bellamy’s jaw ached from how tightly he was clenching his teeth. “I can’t go back to the mainland because I’d be killed if anyone recognized me. And my _soulmate_ is on the mainland, somewhere. That’s why I can’t do anything about it. I’m going to die for the life I took. _Jus drein jus daun.”_

“That’s not fair,” she argued. “You were protecting a child. You don’t deserve to die for that.” 

“Maybe not, or maybe I do, but it doesn't matter. It’s happening and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

He expected her to agree with this exchange, like so many others in his life had.

He expected her to argue with him if she didn’t agree.

He expected her to attempt to give him false hope.

What he didn’t expect was for her to lunge across the boat, throwing her arm around his shoulders and pulling their bodies flush together.

A hug.

_He hadn’t had a hug in a long time._

He wanted to grab her waist and bury his face into his shoulder and _take it all in._ Instead, he ended up grabbing her waist and closing his eyes and holding his breath as the boat tipped to the side, sending them tumbling into the water.

The ocean was cold around him, shocking his system into rigidity. Water rushed up his nose and into his mouth. Bubbles rushed around them and he kicked towards the surface, his grip around Clarke’s waist never relenting.

They couldn’t have been under the water for more than a few seconds, but when they surfaced, Clarke was sputtering and panicking. He pulled her flush to his chest and angled their faces towards the sky, keeping her mouth above the water and crushing her in a firm hug at the same time. She was so close to him that he was sure she could feel the pounding of his heart.

“Shit,” she gasped, still coughing up sea water. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—” And, as if to prove just how far she had come since that first day, she let out a breathless laugh. “I can’t believe—”

A silence settled over them.

Clarke was looking at him with a newfound intensity, an intensity that suddenly made Bellamy’s body feel very warm and made his heart race for an entirely different reason than before.

He was thrown by the intimacy of this embrace.

Their arms were wrapped around each other, their chests flushed together, their breaths mixing in the space between them. He could feel each beat of her heart, and the tremble to her fingers, and he could see all the flecks of grey buried in the blues of her eyes.

His gaze dipped to her mouth, watching as water droplets beaded down her skin and clung to her lips. 

And, suddenly, it was very hard to breathe.

Bellamy forced his eyes to meet hers. Their faces were _so close_ that all he would have to do is move a few inches forward and—

He shifted from her embrace to grab a firm hold of the boat. 

“If you’re going to be Floukru’s cartographer,” he said, his voice sounding like it was coming from far away, “then I think it’s time you learn how to swim.”

Just like that, the moment was broken.

* * *

_**v.** _

Clarke emerged from the water, her hair plastered down the sides of her head and beads of water running down her face and arms. She wore the same clothing she did on their first adventure out to sea, the cloth sticking to her as she stood. She let out a tiny laugh, clearly unable to hide her excitement.

“How was that?”

“Great! You’re doing great,” he praised, and it was the truth. 

The sun already started its descent towards the ground, telling him they’d been at this for _hours,_ but she made more progress than he thought possible in that time. While they were still in shallow waters, she was able to kick a few strokes on her own and fully submerge her head under water. 

It was a vast improvement from earlier in the day, when he had to dive after her and pull her out of the water when they went too deep.

Bellamy remembered how tough it had been to teach some of the kids of Trikru how to swim when he was younger. They were always so scared to jump into the water, or to wet their faces, or to allow the current of the river carry them along. They fought every step of the way and didn’t succeed without kicking and screaming first.

When Clarke stood in the water, it only came up to her hips. Her exposed arms and nose were bright red from the day spent under the sun. His eyes traced the strands of hair that clung to the side of her neck. She was glowing, and it had nothing to do with the sun positioned perfectly behind her.

“How does it feel?” he asked, mentally shaking himself. He trudged through the water to meet her, the water rising from his knees to his thighs. 

Clarke tipped her head backwards, her face turning towards the sky like a flower reaching for the sun. She looked happy, and carefree, and blissful. It was beautiful, and endearing, and—

He looked away.

He was getting too comfortable. He couldn’t look at her and think she was beautiful—he couldn’t look at her and wish there was more between—he couldn’t look at her and imagine anything together.

He wouldn’t.

“How does _what_ feel?” she asked. “Being okay in the water or being in a place this beautiful? I never knew anything could feel like this.” With her eyes squeezed closed, she fell backwards into the ocean again, sending a ripple to wash over Bellamy. 

_It truly was beautiful._

The sky was slowly turning gold and the clouds— _the clouds_ —they looked like they should’ve belonged in one of his books from the ancient world. There was no way they were real, just as there was no way the _water_ was real too; with dancing waves, and refracting light, and _orange_ from the sky as far as the eye could see. The island behind them might’ve been rocky, but the strength of the ocean had turned the shallow shore into fine sand.

With the sand under his feet, and the waves lapping at his legs, and Clarke’s laugh ringing through the air, Bellamy wished he could stay in this moment forever.

No more soulmates.

No more dying.

No more running.

 _This moment,_ where the time stretched in front of him was just as plentiful as the sand below him.

Once again, it was Clarke to break him from his thoughts. While floating on her back, she kicked a wave of water at him, splattering him across the chest with it. She laughed wildly at what must’ve been his shocked expression.

“Don’t tell me _Belomi kom Floukru_ is afraid of water,” she teased, her expression wicked. She kicked another wave of water at him, this time splashing him across the face.

He let out a bark of laughter and dove after her, retaliation on his mind.

She dove beneath the waves to dodge the splash launched from his arms. Moments later, she resurfaced and attempted to splash him again, only to miss by a long shot. Her shriek filled the air when he finally splashed her.

Back and forth, they lunged at each other. Their splashes turned into messy, full on waves, which quickly turned into them tackling each other in an attempt to push the other off balance. Finally, Clarke’s arm hooked around Bellamy’s calves and _pulled,_ sending him sprawling backwards.

He landed in the water gracelessly. His nose filled with water, and his eyes burned from the saltiness, and his arms flapped uselessly beside him.

He broke the surface laughing and, without hesitation, flung himself at Clarke. The momentum sent both of them falling to the ground, sending clouds of sand up through the shallow water. It wasn’t deep enough for them to be fully submerged when they sat together where they fell, too exhausted and breathless to move another inch.

 _Yes,_ Bellamy thought, _this was what his life was meant to be filled with._ Laughing, and chasing someone he cared about through the water, and basking in the sun. _Not running from people trying to kill him, and worrying about the mark on his wrist that was sucking the oxygen from his blood, and trying to prepare his sister for a life without him because he knew it was inevitable._

Waves lapped at them as they sat on the shore, providing the only sound between them other than their heaving breaths.

Peace.

This was peace.

With both of them at mercy to the power of the ocean, and both of them too breathless to speak, and with his death approaching him in four days—

This was the most peaceful he had felt in a long time.

When he looked at Clarke, he couldn’t help but think that this was the most peaceful she had looked since he met her, too.

As if they were two magnets, their gazes were drawn together. The simplicity of it all knocked the breath from his lungs and stole the thoughts from his head.

He had never seen someone so beautiful.

Even with water soaking her lashes together, and her hair clinging to her neck, and her skin flushed from the sun, _she was stunning._

Acting on pure instinct, he reached across the space between them to brush some of her loose hair behind her ear. Her gaze trailed to his fingers and, just as she reached his wrist, her expression changed.

“Bellamy,” she breathed, her own hand darting up to his. Her palm was warm against his wrist. Her gaze was locked onto his, her eyes widened the slightest bit and ever so frantic. It took him a long moment for him to realize what she was talking about.

_His armband._

Bellamy’s heart jumped out of his chest when he realized his armband wasn’t secured tightly around his wrist anymore. It must’ve gotten loose while they were chasing each other through the water, because it was nowhere to be seen now.

_The only thing covering his soulmark was Clarke’s hand._

His body grew still. His breath caught in his throat. A wave of emotion crashed over him, a wave that felt even stronger than the surrounding tides.

_Nobody had ever seen his mark before._

It was a strange idea, knowing that he had been the only one in the world to have set eyes on the mark on his wrist. He knew what it looked like— _everyone_ knew what it looked like, considering everyone had the exact same mark etched into their skin as soon as they turned eighteen.

Everyone knew what his mark looked like—everyone knew exactly where it rested on his body—and yet—

_This felt different._

Clarke _touching_ his wrist felt different.

And, when he slowly reached towards her hand and guided her touch away, Clarke _looking_ at his mark felt different too.

He watched carefully, his heart hammering in his chest and the blood rushing through his ears, and Clarke’s gaze slowly dropped from his eyes, to his lips, to his wrist.

When her eyes came to rest on the mark on her wrist, Bellamy couldn’t breathe. His chest felt tight, and his heart was beating too fast, and his mind was too silent.

Clarke’s fingers brushed across his wrist, leaving behind a trail of water drops in their wake. Goosebumps rose along his arm, and he knew he couldn’t blame it on the cool ocean water.

_It was Clarke._

It was the way her fingers were feather-light across his skin.

It was the way her hand cupped his own, framing his fingers perfectly.

It was the way her eyes were locked on his wrist, so intense and so caring and so _warm._

A shiver shot up his spine when her fingers brushed against his mark and her eyes darted to his.

 _“Clarke,”_ he breathed, his fingers curling around her forearm. Understanding passed through their locked gazes and, _fuck,_ Bellamy felt like he was being held to this plane of existence because of _her._

A beat passed where neither of them said anything.

_They just stared._

Bellamy was sure she could _feel_ the thrum of his heart or the rush of his blood. He was so sure that she could feel the way his fingers were shaking. He was so sure she could hear the only thought racing through his mind.

_Kiss her._

_Just fucking kiss her._

Her lips were inches from his own. He was _drawn_ to them—he was _mesmerized_ by them. _From the way they parted the slightest bit, to the way water clung to them, to the way her breath shuddered._

When he managed to force his eyes back up to hers, a jolt when through his whole body because—

She was looking at his lips too.

_Kiss her._

Everything in him was _screaming_ to close the distance between them—to cup her jaw and press his lips against hers—to bump his nose with hers, and smile against her cheek, and—

The space between them dissipated until he could feel each of her warm breaths on his lips. And, when her eyes slid closed and his chest tightened—

—he pulled away.

The water rippled as he put space between her and his wrist felt impossibly cold when her touch was ripped away.

All he could hear was the rush of blood through his ears—all he could feel was the _ache_ curling through his veins. His fingers closed into a fist around the sand, desperate to ground him to this moment, desperate for the earth to leech some of the hurt away from him.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

Bellamy knew he shouldn’t be feeling like this— _he was the one to pull away, not her._ He shouldn’t be allowed to feel like his heart was ripping out of his ribs, and he didn’t deserve to feel like his stomach had twisted into knots, and he sure as hell shouldn’t even be _thinking_ about how something deeper inside of him felt like it was burning. 

“I’m sorry,” Clarke said when the silence became too much.

_That hurt even more._

“No,” he said quickly. “No, it isn’t you. It’s not that.”

He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. It would only carve further holes in his chest and _he couldn’t._

Not when he wanted to say fuck it all and kiss her breathless.

_He couldn’t._

“We can’t— I can’t— Not when—”

_Not when he was dying._

Not when he was already leaving behind Octavia.

Not when he was already leaving behind his people.

He couldn’t leave behind Clarke, too. He couldn’t _kiss her_ and _love her_ and _leave her._

He wouldn’t let himself, no matter how much he wanted to—no matter how _wrong_ it felt.

Bellamy finally pulled his gaze to hers and desperately ignored the hurt rushing through him. Clarke’s lips were pressed tightly together and her eyes were so wide and _the distance between them—_

“I’m dying,” he told her, his voice sounding more wrecked than it had in a long time. It was thick with emotion. _Fuck,_ why did _he_ want to cry? _He_ was the one fucking over all their lives. “I’m dying, and I can’t do that to you. I can’t leave _another person_ because I’m already leaving my sister behind and I just— I can’t. _We_ can’t.”

She was nodding her head, but he could tell she was being torn apart. Her eyes were glassy and her lips pinched and her forehead creased.

_It made him want to fall apart._

“I’m sorry—”

“I get it,” she promised him, cutting him off. “Don’t be sorry. I understand.” Clarke looked out towards the setting sun and sucked in a long breath. “It’s fine. We’re fine.”

_But they weren’t._

He could feel it, this large chasm between them. Despite only being an arm’s reach away, she felt like she could’ve been on a different world.

They let the silence wash over them.

.

The sun was touching the water by the time they decided to head back to the rig. His arm felt bare without the armband and, really, it was just another patch of his skin, it shouldn’t have felt so _weird._

But it was weird.

His eyes kept settling on the exposed skin and, every time, his heart would jump. Once, he caught himself _staring_ at it, bitterly thinking that _this_ was the thing that was killing him.

The rig was taking shape in the distance when Clarke must’ve caught him staring at his wrist. She shifted around for another minute, her gaze darting between the dark masses on the horizon, before eventually settling on him again.

“You okay?”

“I’m just…” She blew out a long breath and inched closer to him. “If I show you something, promise me that you won’t hate me?”

He let out a choked sound. He hadn’t been expecting that.

“I don’t think I could ever hate you, Clarke.”

That must’ve been the tiny push that she needed. She nodded to herself, set her shoulders, and reached for her own armband.

Bellamy flew into action, reaching across the boat so quickly that it almost overturned. He caught her hand before she could reach her wrist and caught her eye in the same second.

“Don’t.”

“Why not?” Her hand curled around his, guiding his touch away. “I trust you. And I trust you won’t throw me overboard the boat when I show you. And I _want_ to share this with someone—I want to share this with you.”

He didn’t try to stop her again.

Clarke fumbled with the knitted fabric for a moment before she unravelled the layers. Bellamy watched, his throat tight with emotion and his heart pressed against his ribs, as she worked, too moved to say anything because—

He trusted her.

He trusted this woman in front of him with _everything_ in him.

Bellamy didn’t know when that happened. When did she become someone he found in the ocean to _this?_ A woman he wanted to spend his last days with, a woman that was easy to smile with, a woman that he would cross oceans for, if he had to. A woman who he thought _hated him_ at one time now _trusted him._

As the last layer of fabric was peeled away, something caught the last rays of the sun, reflecting them right into his eyes. The red material fell to her lap and her fingers traced across the groves of a thick metal band remaining on her wrist.

He stared.

Out of everything he expected to see, this was not one of them.

The wristband covered her whole soulmark and then some. In a way, it reminded him of the tags Trikru would put on animals to track migrations, but he’d never seen that used on humans before.

His stomach dropped.

“Are you okay?” 

He didn’t think twice about inching across the boat to kneel in front of her. Her hand was cold between his own and she was _trembling._

Now that he was closer to her, he could see the details of the wristband. The metal was ruined in places, from what he assumed must’ve been the saltwater of the sea. The dents on the inner cuff looked as though she had tried to pry it off. It moved with her arm, as if it was merged with the skin underneath.

Anger ripped through him, so burning hot that it could’ve scorched the earth. His vision narrowed to _her, just her,_ as the world around them turned red. White-hot anger filled his gut, turning his blood to vapour. 

Suddenly, he ached to hold the sword he left behind on the mainland. He desperately wanted to feel that cool metal against his palm, and feel the momentum behind each swing, and throw his fists into _anyone who would hurt her like this._

He caught her eyes.

“What happened? Why would someone— Who—”

Her touch brought him back to that moment and soothed the fire in his soul.

Just like on the beach, it felt as though they were tethered in a way that ran deeper than the simplicity of their touch.

“I’m okay,” she promised him. “I let them do this. I _had_ to do this to get here.”

Bellamy wracked his brain in an attempt to piece together what she said.

“Them?” he questioned. He chose each of his words slowly. “Your people? From before you came to the ocean?”

“Yes.”

His fingers brushed over the metal around her wrist. “They made you wear this? Why? I don’t—”

Her hand wrapped around his. “I’m not from here, Bellamy. To come here, I had to give something. _This_ is what I gave; a metal band on my wrist and a piece of my humanity.”

It was something the avoided talking about for all of these weeks. He didn’t know anything about her life before the day they met at sea. He knew she didn’t come from the Coalition. He knew she didn’t speak Trigedasleng. He knew that it felt like she came from a different world, at times.

He swallowed thickly.

“Where did you come from? The day we met, you said something about a _pod…_ and there was a tarp wrapped around your legs, and now there’s a wristband attached to your arm and—”

She stared at him for a moment longer.

“I come from the sky.”

It took him a long time to register what she said.

“...the sky?”

“The place I grew up in—the Ark—it’s in space, among the stars. I come from space.” 

He was too stunned to think, never mind _move._

The stories from his grandparents—the capture orders from the old Commanders—the rumours that there were people _still alive up there_ —

It was all true.

_When the last man from Skaikru died on the ground, he wasn't the last._

“You know I lied about what I remember,” she said. “You know I remember what happened before you rescued me. _You know.”_

“I’ve always known.”

“I came down from space in a pod,” she explained. Bellamy was still too stunned to move. “I was meant to land on a mountain—my dad _told me_ that I was going to land on a mountain—and I ended up landing in the ocean instead. I wasn’t ready. We don’t have pools or oceans on the Ark. We’re never taught how to swim because we were never meant to return to the ground, not this early—”

“Not this _early?_ Clarke—” Bellamy finally pulled back from her. It felt like he was drowning. There was so much information, and so much had changed with her revelation, and— “Clarke, there’s not _meant_ to be people in space. You all died _generations_ ago.”

“Which is why I was supposed to keep my identity a secret,” she said. “My father told me what the history books didn’t; he told me that the Chancellor sent Arrow Station down to Earth seventy years ago, when the Ark was still young and in political unrest. When he sent me down here, he said—”

“Your _father_ sent you down to Earth?” Bellamy’s mind was lagging several steps behind the conversation. He still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that _there were people still in space—_

—and Clarke was one of them.

“My dad sent me to Earth to save me. My mom gave me _this_ to save everyone else.” She tapped her wristband. “One of the last things that my dad told me is to keep where I come from a secret at all costs. There’s bad blood between our people, and rightfully so. The Ark sent hundreds of people from Arrow Station down to Earth, assuming that they would die.”

He knew.

He knew all of that.

He thought back to the stories that his grandmother told him and Octavia when they were younger; how she told them stories about _her_ parents being born in the metal world in the sky, how they were sent away to die and ended up _thriving,_ how the people from space were dangerous.

He always knew he descended from humans who danced with the stars, but _this?_ Knowing that Skaikru had _survived as long as they did?_

It changed everything he thought he knew about the world.

“You were right to keep where you come from a secret,” he told her. “Our people never forgot what happened with Skaikru. The Commander still has capture orders if any Sky Person is found. Even after _generations_ and nearly a dozen Commanders since the first Sky People—including my great-grandparents—came to the ground, the reward is—”

Land.

Good land, too—land that would be able to support a large family for generations.

Honour.

_And a full pardon of any past crimes._

A wave of emotion sucked him further below.

“Who else have you told?” he asked, his voice turning frantic. He gripped her hands tightly, desperately hoping that his grip would be enough to keep her safe. “Who else—”

“Nobody,” she said quickly. “Just you.”

_Just him._

She looked terrified by his reaction. “Why? Why are you—”

“You father was right,” he told her, his voice barely a whisper. The rig was growing closer now and voices carried too easily across water. “The people that descended from Skaikru hold a grudge—a _hate_ —to the people that sent them down here. One of the old Commanders issued capture orders for any following member of Skaikru, and they were never taken down. The reward is something many people would _kill_ for.”

“The reward? If they find someone from the Ark? How would they even _know_ they’re from the Ark if—” 

Bellamy glanced down to her metal wristband. “This would be enough proof for the Commander.”

If her hand wasn’t shaking before, it sure as hell was now. Bellamy wrapped her hand between both of his, his fingers brushing the midst of the band. The metal was worn and cool under his fingers.

“What’s the reward?” she pressed. “Is it something that most people would’ve forgotten by now? Is it—”

“No. Before the end of the world, people would dream of winning the lottery; now, people dream of finding a Sky Person, the reward is that good. It’s land, and honour, and a pardon of past crimes and—”

Clarke’s eyes widened. “A pardon of past crimes? _Bellamy,_ that’s—”

“Something worth killing to some people.” He peered at the metal band. “What is—”

“Bellamy,” she said, this time more firmly. “Bellamy, a pardon of past crimes. _A pardon.”_ When he didn’t say anything, she spoke again. “You _need_ a pardon to go to the mainland. You told me that last week. You—”

He pulled away from her sharply.

His stomach rolled at the thought of what she was implying. “If you’re going to say what _I think you are,_ don’t. _Don’t,_ Clarke.”

She didn’t waver.

“You could’ve given me to the Commander and, in exchange, you could’ve been allowed to travel the mainland and find your soulmate. You didn’t have to _die_ and—”

“But then _you_ would have!” 

“It’s a capture order, not kill.”

He pulled back from her further. “The only reason they would want you alive is to get information out of you before killing you. _Jus drein jus daun,_ and you would be the first out of _many_ to go towards that. They could never let you live.”

She let out a humourless laugh. “But there’s a _chance_ that wouldn’t happen. Without doing anything, there’s a guarantee that you’re going to—”

“I’ve come to terms with that,” he said, his voice venomous. “I haven’t come to terms with _you_ dying. I _won’t_ come to terms with that. It’s not worth it.”

“But—”

“You can’t ever go to the mainland, just like me,” he told her. “You can’t, not while you’re wearing this band, and not while you aren’t able to pass as part of Floukru or Trikru. Okay? Because if you do, and they find you, they will kill you.”

“I—”

Before they could continue to argue, a third voice seemed to echo around them, coming from all directions at once.

_“BELLAMY!”_

He froze. He could’ve recognized that voice anywhere.

_Octavia._

He looked in the direction of the rig and strained his eyes. Through the darkness, he could see a tiny flame on the edge of the boathouse’s dock, silhouetting two figures. The voice was obviously Octavia’s and the hair of the second was so clearly Luna’s.

He knew from experience that the currents would bring them right to the edge of the rig within a minute.

Immediately, Bellamy grabbed the red cloth from Clarke’s lap and began to tie it around her wrist, speaking in a hushed tone the entire time.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he warned her, catching her gaze. Her eyes were filled with fire from their heated words only seconds before, but she didn’t try to stop him. “Promise me, Clarke. You can’t tell anyone. I love my people, but that doesn’t mean I would trust all of them with something like this. _Promise me.”_

“I promise.” She caught his hand before he could completely pull away. “What are we going to do?”

“We act like normal. We don't tell anyone. Okay? Not even Octavia, and especially not Luna.” She nodded. Bellamy glanced behind him. His heart dropped when he realized just how close they were to the rig. He could nearly make out the facial features of the two women waiting for them. “Come to my quarters tonight, okay? We’ll figure this out together.”

That was all they could say before Bellamy had to take hold of the oars and guide the boat back into the dock.

They didn’t speak another word to each other that night.

.

Hours later, Bellamy couldn’t fall asleep.

He laid awake on his bed, counting each wave that crashed up against the side of the rig. His mind wouldn’t quiet and his thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone.

_He couldn’t stop thinking of Clarke._

He couldn’t stop thinking of the way her laugh echoed on the beach, or how her smile could light up the sky, or how her fingers on his wrist made electricity run up his spine. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about how close together their lips had been, or how the pain of pulling away made him feel like he was dying, or how the tension between them felt as thick as blood. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about what she said about her home, and the wristband covering her soulmark, and the storm of emotions he could see in her eyes through their conversation.

 _Fuck,_ he really couldn’t stop thinking about how _close_ they were and how _thrown_ he was by the intimacy and how—

There was a knock at his door.

_Clarke._

With his heart pounding in his chest, and his throat tightening, and the roar of his blood making the world grow quiet, Bellamy jumped out of bed and raced to the door. He pulled it open, a smile already on his face and a hushed greeting on his tongue, but—

It wasn’t Clarke.

Luna stood in front of him, her eyes stormy and her mouth stern, and it sent a jolt of fear into his heart. She might have been a friend, but she was also his leader and a powerful warrior, and he was keeping several large secrets from her.

“Bellamy,” she said coldly, “we need to talk.”

* * *

_**+i.** _

_“Bellamy.”_

Clarke knocked on his door another time, cringing at how loud the echo was. She managed to make it to his quarters without bumping into another person, which was a feat she considered remarkable, but she was pushing her luck with how much noise she was making now. She _really_ didn’t want to answer questions about _why_ she was trying to get into Bellamy’s quarters in the middle of the night.

Again, there was no answer.

She was quickly growing impatient.

Louder, she called for him again. “Bellamy!”

Minutes ticked by without an answer. Her knocks grew louder.

_Still, nothing._

She strained her ear to hear any shuffling from the other side of the door, but there was nothing. It was dead silent. She cursed under her breath. Of _course_ he fell asleep when they were supposed to be meeting. Clarke _knew_ she should’ve showed up earlier than she did; she was just so preoccupied with figuring out what to wear and what to say and—

It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous.

Deciding to catch him in the morning, she returned to her room. By the time she fell asleep, the sky was gold with sunrise.

.

Clarke was getting worried.

She knocked on his door for over ten minutes that morning without answer. Another five minutes was spent at Octavia’s door with the same result. She already checked the boathouse, where their boat was still tied from the previous night, and the mass dining hall, where there was no sign of the siblings. She asked around, hoping that someone knew where they went, but—

Nothing.

They _always_ ate their meals in the dining hall, and they _always_ told someone what they were up to if they had spontaneous plans.

 _Besides,_ Bellamy _told her_ to come to his room last night. He didn’t go back on his word easily.

Clarke blew out a long breath and pressed her back against one of the metal freight containers on the deck. The wind was wicked and her skin stung from where her hair slapped against her flesh. She sucked in breath after breath, willing the dread to leave the pit of her stomach and for her heart to settle.

_It was fine._

_Bellamy was fine._

_Everything was fine._

Except, maybe it wasn’t.

She thought of the previous night, where Luna and Octavia pulled him away to talk about something classified. She wasn’t oblivious to Luna’s lingering stare and she didn’t ignore the way it made her heart pound.

Luna kom Floukru was a terrifying force to be reckoned with. The first time she met her, she was scared out of her wits. She was pressed with grueling questions, all while her gaze scanned for chinks in her armour. While Clarke had been staying on the rig for weeks, she did everything in her power to avoid Luna.

Clarke didn’t want to get on Luna’s bad side, she really didn’t, but _Bellamy._

If anyone knew what happened to Bellamy, it was most likely going to Luna.

With that thought in her mind, she pushed off the metal freight container and began to make her way to the council room, the same room where she met Bellamy formally for the first time.

 _Fuck,_ how had they only known each other for a few weeks? So much had changed since the first day she spent on the ground. So much had changed since she found out exactly what her father knew, and found out what her mother did, and made a deal with Jaha to ensure her father survived.

Before entering the council room, Clarke checked to make sure the red cloth was covering her wristband, effectively hiding the secret both her and Bellamy were desperate to keep.

“And to the east— Oh. Clarke.” 

Luna barely turned her head to greet her as she pushed open the council room doors. The half dozen heads of the other council members all snapped to look at her, some sending her looks that could kill for interrupting what was, clearly, meant to be a closed door meeting.

Clarke scanned the room, her heart in her throat and the breath trapped in her lungs, hoping to see Bellamy’s familiar curls, or the slope of his shoulders, of the freckles of his cheeks, but—

_Nothing._

“You bring news?” Luna prompted when she didn’t speak first. “If so, please air your grievances with—”

“No.” The leader simply raised an eyebrow. “No, I’m looking for Bellamy. I can’t find him on the rig and I’m worried about him.”

“Hm.” She didn’t look concerned. “That’s because he is not on the rig.”

Clarke felt sick.

 _But the boat was still at the dock._ How could he not be on the rig if the boat was still there? How could he—

Her footing on the ground felt uneven, like she was being flung around by the currents again. She was spiralling.

Disoriented.

Panicking.

A million different and horrible possibilities came to mind, each worse than the one before. He could be hurt, or dead, or—

Maybe this was all just a nightmare.

“Do you know where he is?” Clarke pressed, trying with everything in her to keep her voice from shaking.

“I do.”

Silence stretched between them. Clarke’s jaw tightened.

“Where is he?”

Finally, Luna turned to look at her, her eyes cold and her chin lifted. “Bellamy and his sister went to the mainland late last night on personal business.”

 _Yes,_ Clarke thought, _this was definitely a nightmare._

There was no other explanation.

Her stomach dropped. The room spun. A numbness washed over her.

No. That couldn’t be right.

He couldn’t be on the mainland, not when they just had the conversation yesterday where he made her promise to never go to the mainland because she would get killed. He _just told her_ that he could never go back home because of the kill order.

Bellamy wasn’t this thoughtless. He wouldn’t go to the mainland. If he hadn’t gone to the mainland _all these years,_ even though he knew staying away would kill him, _why would he go now?_

Fuck.

_Fuck._

Before she could completely spiral, Luna turned her back to her. “Now if you could excuse us, but we need—”

“Bellamy can’t _go_ back to the mainland though,” Clarke argued. She was shocked at how sharp and demanding her voice was. “He told me there’s a kill order from the _Heda_ for him and that was why he could never leave Floukru lands.”

“You’re correct.”

“And he’s gone to the mainland?”

“As I said, both he and his sister left on personal business last night and—”

“I heard you the first time,” she hissed. Clarke stalked a few steps forward, demanding Luna’s attention back on her. “What are you going to do about it?”

Luna’s eyebrows rose. The corners of her lips tugged up into a cold smile, freezing Clarke’s heart in place. “What am I going to do about it? Nothing. Bellamy is well aware of the risk he is taking by going after his sister, and there’s nothing I, nor anybody on the rig, can do about it. Now—”

“Going after his sister?” Clarke echoed.

Suddenly, it made sense.

Octavia must’ve forced his hand.

She knew Octavia had been desperate for Bellamy to go to the mainland to find his soulmate and _live,_ just as she knew Bellamy was set on never returning to the mainland to avoid the kill order.

The only reason Bellamy would have changed his mind was to protect his sister.

Octavia must’ve went first, and Bellamy must’ve followed her.

_Fuck him and his good heart and his ability to bear all the responsibility for her._

Luna set down the piece of parchment she was holding and turned her whole body to face her. “By all means, Clarke, keep taking up the minutes of our meeting. We don’t have a population to monitor and problems to see to.”

Clarke’s lip curled up in disgust. “Bellamy will get himself killed trying to rescue his sister.” When Luna didn’t flinch, something inside of her snapped. “What is _wrong_ with you? He’s on your council! He’s your _friend!”_

“And he knew the risks. He made his choice, now we make ours.” 

Clarke stepped forward again, her fist curling at her side. “Fuck you. _Fuck you,_ Luna, and—”

She stood and glared. “I suggest you watch yourself, _Klark kom Splitakru._ Remember your place as a _guest_ among my people.” Luna’s gaze flicked to the open door behind her. “Now leave, before I have to escort you out myself.”

For a long moment, neither woman moved. 

Clarke’s heart was hammering in her chest. Her nails dug into the skin of her palm. Her body shook from the _rage_ ripping through her at the _injustice_ and _apathy for Bellamy’s life_ shown by the woman he pledged himself to and done _everything_ for.

Finally, she was the one to break the tension.

She took a step backwards and uncurled her fists.

“Fine,” she growled, her voice still filled with venom. “I’ll go, but I won’t forget this.”

Luna didn’t hesitate. “Neither will I.”

With that, Clarke turned her back on the Floukru council and walked out.

.

She knew it was a bad decision.

_She knew it._

But Clarke was desperate, and desperate people did irresponsible and unintelligent things.

“Fuck,” she hissed when the wood clanged against the metal of the dock. 

Clarke glanced over her shoulder both ways, hoping that nobody was close enough to hear the ungodly amount of noise she was making. When she saw no sign of life, she turned back to Bellamy’s boat and continued to undo the expertly tied knots.

The water was already up to her knees and the faster she tried to move through it, the more she felt slowed down. The waves were rougher than anything she’d even been on before and, for the first time, she understood what Bellamy meant about sensing a storm coming. The sky might’ve been clear, but she could _feel_ it coming. She could feel it in the way that the water moved around her and in the way the air crackled with each breath. 

Before she jumped in the boat, she double checked she had everything, all while looking over her shoulder and straining her ears to hear for footsteps. She wasn’t sure what punishment Luna would deal out if she caught her stealing supplies and a boat, _and_ for going to the mainland without permission, but she had to try.

_She had to try._

It was _Bellamy._

Bellamy, the man who saved her more times than she could count. Bellamy, the man who helped teach her about the beauty of life on Earth and how the simplest things could bring joy. Bellamy, the man who dove into the raging ocean to save her. Bellamy, the man who kept her secrets when there was nothing in it for him.

Bellamy, the man she _cared_ about.

Fuck Luna, fuck the ocean, fuck _everyone._

She was going to save him _her-fucking-self._

Clarke pushed off the dock, grabbed the oars, and rowed out into the ocean, just as he taught her.

 _I’m coming,_ she thought. _I’m coming._

.

Clarke prided herself on her ability to plan and execute said plan.

_This was not one of those times._

Her arms ached from rowing, over and over and _over._ She was fighting each wave because _she couldn’t remember_ what the best way to position the boat in the water was. She could feel the strain all the way up her arms, and through her chest, and down her back, and _even her abdomen was burning from exertion._

Still, she rowed on.

The wind was so violent that she could hardly see between all her hair. The rig had disappeared behind her when she gave up trying to push her hair out of her eyes and repurposed her red armband as a hair tie.

_And the water._

It reminded her of the first day she landed on Earth. She could feel the currents pushing the boat off course, something that she had to correct every few seconds. Water washed over the sides of the boat, soaking her feet and collecting below her shoes.

That first day…

That first day had been hell, and it would’ve been her last day without Bellamy. She remembered how scared her dad had been when he woke her up that morning, telling her that she needed to go if she wanted to live. He was already screwed because he was the one to discover that the Ark was running out of oxygen, but _she could still live._

She just didn’t realize that when he said ‘go,’ he meant _go to Earth._ She didn’t realize he’d repurposed an old escape pod in Mecha Station to take her somewhere the council couldn’t get her.

 _And her mother._ Her mother was the one to slap a wristband on her arm, telling her that it wouldn’t just save her father, but _everyone._ The vitals being sent up to the Ark were the bargaining chip Abby was going to use to try to save Jake’s life. Those vitals were _proving_ that the ground was survivable; it was proving that everyone could come back down to the ground and nobody would have to _die for it._

All she had to give in exchange was a piece of her soul, it seemed, to leave behind her parents to clean up a mess they didn’t make, and leave the rest of her people to what could be their deaths. It had nearly destroyed her.

Clarke had never seen the mainland before. She only ever heard about it from stories she overheard in the dining hall, or from what Bellamy told her on their adventures out to sea. She didn’t even know what direction to go in when she first left the rig and urgently tried to commit the maps she borrowed to memory.

The sky rolled with grey clouds. The water was restless. She was _terrified._ Her hands shook and she could barely look at the water over the edge of the boat. All she kept thinking of was how _Bellamy wasn’t there to jump in after her if something went wrong._

When the mainland appeared in the distance on the horizon, she let out a shaking breath. It was more beautiful than anyone had described. There were _trees,_ so many trees. The shore stretched _forever_ and it reminded Clarke of the ocean; never ending. It was something that was in short supply in space. _And the animals._ The closer she got to shore, the more she saw; the deer beyond the treeline, and the dozens of species of birds circling, and _bugs._ She didn’t realize they would be this _annoying._

The map nearly blew away when Clarke pulled it out the final time. She checked the route Bellamy marked off and hoped he would’ve taken the exact same route when he passed through only a few hours earlier.

Maybe Pike got on her nerves on the Ark, but he was a good teacher and she was a damn good student. She _killed_ Earth Skills when she took it; she had the highest mark in her year. She might’ve been ridiculous or naive for thinking she could find Bellamy based on those skills alone, but _it was all she had._

It was all she had, and she was sure as hell going to do anything in her power to find him and _keep him safe._

First, she needed to find the spot where Bellamy or Octavia disembarked their boats, otherwise she could be stuck wandering the forest forever. She needed to find their trail, and she needed _somewhere_ to start.

Just as Clarke was beginning to lose hope, she spotted two boats, side by side up the bank. 

_There._

That was the start of the trail.

By the time she docked on the shore, she had a clear view into both boats. It made her stomach feel fuzzy when she realized she could tell which boat belonged to Bellamy and which one belonged to Octavia, just based on the way the oars were laid and how the knots were tied.

Clarke was so frantic that she didn’t think about the fact this was the first time she was touching the mainland. She didn’t think about the fact that she was _finally_ arriving on the part of the Earth that her parents sent her to. She didn’t think about how the rocks shifted under her shoes, and the wind pulled at her hair, and how the air smelled _different_ here.

All she could think about was Bellamy.

.

Tracking him was easier than she thought it would be.

Neither of the siblings covered their tracks as they went along. The footprints in the soft dirt were obvious enough and, when that trail disappeared between the foliage, she followed the path of broken twigs and trampled plants.

Clarke knew she wasn’t magically gifted at tracking. She knew it wasn’t just Pike’s Earth Skills helping her along. It was _Octavia,_ who purposefully left enough clues in her wake for Bellamy to easily follow her. It was _Bellamy,_ who was in such a rush to find Octavia that he didn’t take the time to cover his tracks and keep his path hidden.

Her body had been buzzing for hours now, ever since she got to Bellamy’s door that morning. Her hands shook with adrenaline, and her stomach felt like it had come alive with the bugs she saw at the beach, and her throat felt so impossibly tight.

_What if something horrible happened to him?_

She couldn’t shake that feeling, no matter how many times she tried to tell herself that she was being ridiculous.

Logically, she knew he was fine. He had to be. He had only been on the mainland for a few hours at most. The Commander was in Polis, which was several days away according to Bellamy. Even the forest closest to the coast was fairly empty; Trikru usually stayed further inland. Without anyone around to recognize him, _he would be fine._

(But what if he wasn’t?)

It was easy to remember what he looked like when they talked about the kill order on him and the ripples in his life that had caused. He didn’t regret saving that kid’s life, she wouldn’t have either, but he did regret how much it hurt Octavia’s future. And, maybe he didn’t care that he effectively sentenced himself to death, but _she did._

Clarke couldn’t shake the impending feeling of _doom_ that had been mounting ever since they saw Octavia and Luna on the docks the previous day. Ever since they were waiting for them to return from swimming on _Louwoda Sontam,_ she had a feeling that something horrible was coming.

_She should have listened to her gut._

_She should have stayed with Bellamy when they pulled him aside._

_She should have gone to his room earlier._

_She could have talked him out of chasing after Octavia,_ or at least talked him into bringing her along.

 _“Why?”_ he would’ve asked. She could hear it so clearly in her mind; he was so inquisitive and curious—that was something she loved about him.

It would’ve been a good question, too. Why would he have taken her? What could she have offered to help find Octavia? She had never been to the mainland before, so they would’ve been relying on sheer luck that her tracking skills were up to par. She hadn’t studied any of the maps beyond the ocean. She barely knew how to tie a knot to anchor a boat, never mind _row_ one all the way to shore. She didn’t magically know how to find Octavia and how to bring her back to the rig.

So, why?

_Because she wanted to be with him._

Even though there was no skill she could offer, she wanted to be by his side and help where she could. _He was her friend_ —her closest one since she got to Earth, and the most trustworthy one she had in her life. And she _cared_ about him. Her heart swelled when he smiled, and she ached to hear his laugh, and she wanted to hold his hand, and she was willing to share his burdens, and _she wanted to help him._

_Because she liked him._

_Because she cared about him._

_Because she loved him._

That thought made her careful steps falter. She caught herself on a tree.

_Love._

Yes, she loved him.

She loved his heart, and his courage, and his ability to light up the room with a few simple words. She loved his ability to lead and inspire people, and the way he cared about those around him so fiercely that he was willing to give anything for them, and the way that he was a good man.

_He was a good man._

Bellamy claimed he wasn’t. He claimed he was a monster. He claimed he was one of the bad guys. But the way he tried to pull away from everyone around him, just to protect them from the hurt they were going to feel when he died, said something else. The way he jumped into the ocean to save her when they didn’t even know each other’s names told the truth.

_He was a good man._

She wasn’t in love with him—not yet, maybe not ever—but she _loved_ him. She _cared_ about him. She wanted him to be happy and safe, and she was willing to do anything to help him.

Even if that meant burning bridges with Floukru.

Even if that meant getting on Luna’s bad side.

Even if that meant stealing a boat and crossing the ocean.

Even if that meant walking through a forest with a storm brewing in the sky and the wind making the trees come to life around her.

Quickly, the wind from the storm turned to thunder in the distance, which turned to lightning forking through the clouds, and, finally—

_Rain._

The sky opened up above her and rain poured down. Within seconds, she was soaked. The ground turned soft and slippery under her shoes, washing away the most reliable tracks she was following, taking with it the fire of hope that was brightly burning in her chest. Her hair stuck to her face and blocked her vision. It took her several long moments to realize that her red armband she used to tie her hair back earlier must’ve been knocked loose from her hair and was now long gone.

Still, she kept on.

The mainland smelled different than the rig. Instead of salt stinging her throat every time she took a breath, the woods smelled heavier. The smell of wet dirt and something sweet and sharp clung to her body and lingered at the back of her throat. The rain was warmer between the trees than it was out at sea. Despite the cool rain, the stillness of the wind caused sweat to bead across her forehead.

Which was why, when the hair on the back of her neck stood on end, she knew something was wrong.

She froze instantly. It was so much harder to hear in the forest, between all the bugs and the rustling of trees, but she strained to hear that sound again. She could’ve _swore_ she heard a human voice, but—

Clarke waited several long beats. Her lungs burned as she held her breath, too terrified to make a single sound. Her ears were filled with the steady rhythm of her blood rushing through her ears.

She waited.

And waited.

And—

She hit the ground as soon as she heard another voice, this time much closer and clearer than moments before. Panic flooded through her, clouding her thoughts and making her hands shake. Her back was pressed against the bark of a tree and her breath came out as shallow gasps.

 _“Teik ai frag em op.”_ Clarke turned to ice when she registered the words as Trigedasleng. It was faster than how Bellamy spoke it, and clearly _not_ his voice. Her eyes fell shut and her heart squeezed. _“Em ste a ripa!”_

She didn’t recognize these words. Bellamy never taught them to her and they were speaking too fast and _fuck._

 _Ripa_ didn’t sound good, based on the way they spoke it, with such hate, and just from the way it sounded.

Her hand curled around a slick rock against the base of the tree. It was heavy enough to do damage if she got close enough. She just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

The voices were growing closer now and their words more urgent. It was two men talking. They must’ve been on an animal of some sort, too, because she could _feel_ their footsteps through the ground. They were too fragmented and stiff to be human.

 _“-honon,”_ one of the voices hissed. _“Jak em op Heda.”_

_Heda._

She recognized that word.

It was Trigedasleng for Commander. That was the person who had kill orders out for Bellamy; the same person who had capture orders out for herself and any other Sky Person.

The cold, bony hands of fear and dread wrapped around her gut. Slowly, her gaze travelled to her hand clutching the rock at her side, her heart beating horribly and her stomach twisting painfully.

_Fuck._

There it was, as plain as day; the metal wristband glinting in the sunlight—a clear sign that she was not from Earth, but from the sky.

The red armband was gone, washed away by the storm, and the warning Bellamy gave her rang sharply in her ear.

_“You can’t ever go to the mainland. You can’t, not while you’re wearing this band, and not while you aren’t able to pass as part of Floukru. If you do, and they find you, they will kill you. Jus drein jus daun, and you would be the first out of many to go towards that.”_

If she was spotted and identified as Skaikru—

The voices were drawing closer.

Clarke acted without another moment of hesitation.

She gripped the rock in her hand and _swung_ with everything in her. A sharp pain shot up her arm where it hit, blurring her vision and knocking the breath from her lungs.

She swung again.

_And again, and again, and—_

There was a snap from her wrist. For a long moment, she didn’t know if it was bone or metal giving. She couldn’t feel anything beyond the pain running up her wrist, burning itself into her soul, tangling with her core. She couldn’t breathe past the ache, couldn’t think past the gut-wrenching hurt. 

Clarke looked down. Between the disorienting red of her blood and darkness of the mud, she could see it.

_Her bare wrist._

The wristband laid in the ground beside her knee. The power of the downpour splashed mud from the ground up to cover the pieces of metal, washing her blood away.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see two humans on _beasts_ of an animal. A horse, Pike had called them, if she remembered correctly. They hadn’t spotted her yet, crouched between two trunks of a tree, but any second—

She shoved the smashed pieces of her wristband beneath a loose piece of root and kicked dirt over top of it, effectively hiding it from view.

When she tried to stand, the world tilted on its axis. Her vision spun. Sweat trickled down her neck.

The pain radiating up her wrist made her doubt the grip she had on reality.

_She was going to black out._

Clarke didn’t have time for that though. The two Grounders on horseback spotted her and were calling something at her—something that she couldn’t even _hear_ past the ringing in her ears. She positioned her injured arm behind the tree and stood on shaking legs, doing everything in her power to keep standing and keep awake.

_“Chon yu bilaik?”_

Clarke understood this question. It was one she practiced with Bellamy out on the water. She made a hasty decision.

_“Ai laik Klark kom Louwoda Kliron Kru.”_

Clarke didn’t know much about Shallow Valley or the people, and she hoped these riders didn’t either. It was what one of Luna’s council members thought she could be from that first day she arrived on the rig though, and it was the only other clan in the Coalition she knew apart from Trikru or Floukru.

_“Yu laik kom Louwoda Kliron Kru?”_

She could tell by his tone that he didn’t believe her.

She didn’t know what to say; hell, there wasn’t much she _could_ say. She was running out of applicable Trigedasleng.

 _“Ai don lukot kom Trikru. Sonraun teina,”_ she said. She hoped she just told them she had friends from Trikru and was looking for her soulmate, but she was really reaching her conversation limit. When neither of the men moved, she continued speaking and asked who they were.

They launched into a long explanation on who they were and what they were doing. She caught that word again— _ripa_ —and _Heda._ She nodded like she understood when that couldn’t be further from the truth.

 _“Jus drein jus daun,”_ she said, hoping the statement that Bellamy always paired with his conversations about the Commander was universally known. The two men nodded pensively.

Clarke was trying to think of something else to add. She was desperate for _anything,_ even a single word. Just as she was about to speak, the second rider who hadn’t spoken much yet, nudged the first with his foot and whispered something. He nodded.

_“Osir laik don, Klark kom Louwoda Kliron Kru.”_

Then, with that, they were on their way.

Clarke stood for a second longer, watching their retreating backs carefully. Their horses expertly moved over the uneven terrain, carrying them at such high speeds that it amazed Clarke to watch. Just before they disappeared beyond the thickening tree line, the leader reached behind him and pulled out a sword.

_Something was wrong._

A sinking feeling was rising in Clarke. The two riders were speaking about the Commander—the exact person Bellamy needed to be avoiding. She’d been following Bellamy’s trail and she couldn’t be more than a few hours behind him, what if they—

_What if they were also following his trail?_

Cold washed over her.

Her heart stopped.

Her stomach swooped.

She had felt terror many times before, but none like this.

_None like this._

All thoughts in her mind grew quiet, with the exception of one.

_Bellamy._

_Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy—_

The desire to _get to him_ and _stand beside him_ and _protect him—_ it overwhelmed her. If the fear was the water of the sea pulling her down, then this _need_ to protect him must’ve been the sky.

Clarke pushed off the tree she leaned against and began her sprint after the two riders. With each step she took, the more her worst nightmares were confirmed. _They were following his trail._ The hoofprints in the mud matched the nearly washed away human footprints of Bellamy and Octavia, and Clarke knew that was not a coincidence.

Her arm was bent against her chest as she moved. Blood seeped through her shirt, warming her frigid skin. She could feel a strong pulse radiating up through her injured hand and every beat of her heart sent a new wave of pain through her fingertips.

It wasn’t the first time that she wished she listened to her mother on the Ark more, or took her up on more shadowing opportunities in the clinic. If she did, she might know how to check to see if her arm was broken or reset the bones.

If she had more training, maybe she would’ve known that running through the woods during a storm with an injured arm was a bad idea.

Her vision was spotty at best. She felt as though she was six feet above her body. At times, she couldn’t feel pain anymore, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

_None of it mattered though._

Minutes later, Clarke heard shouts echo beyond the treeline. Birds flew through the air, fleeing the confrontation. Cries of the horses joined in on the shouting and she knew—

_It was the riders._

Clarke took off in a sprint, no longer caring about how her legs felt like they were going to give out under her—no longer caring that she could be running to the people that would ensure her death—no longer caring that there was a possibility that she wasn’t going to find Bellamy through those trees.

Branches stung her skin. The ground slid under foot. She hurdled clumsily over a fallen tree trunk. Every pounding step on the ground shook her whole body, something that she had never been aware of before this moment, with her arm clutched to her chest.

Clarke burst through a thick layer of trees without any mind for stealth, bursting between the two sides of a mounting confrontation. On one, the Grounders she saw earlier, both with their swords drawn. The other—

_Bellamy._

He was leaning heavily on Octavia’s side, as if he couldn’t hold himself up alone. His expression was one she had never seen before, filled with pain and distance. His eyes looked devoid of life. It struck horror so deep in Clarke.

_He looked like a corpse._

To see someone that was usually so filled with _life_ and _light_ and _love_ bent over and swaying—

She felt sick.

“Clarke?” Octavia asked. It was then that her gaze moved to settle on Bellamy’s younger sister. Her eyes were wide with shock. “What are you—”

_Today was a day of half-assed plans._

_“Bleik,”_ Clarke called, her voice holding no room for questions. She hoped with everything in her that they would _play along_ as she called them by fake names and raced across the clearing, throwing herself at Bellamy. She caught herself on his shoulders, rather than him catching her, and she leaned in close. “They were tracking you. Tell them I’m visiting from _Louwoda Kliron Kru.”_

He leaned in close enough for his lips to brush the shell of her ear.

“You shouldn’t have come.”

Clarke ignored him and turned to the two Trikru riders, her grip never leaving Bellamy. _“Lukots. Chit?”_ They launched into an explanation, but Clarke cut them off. _“Em laik ai lukot.”_

_They are my friends._

Bellamy, despite barely being able to keep upright, cleared his throat and lifted his hands to show he meant no harm. He spoke a long sentence in Trigedasleng, one that Clarke couldn’t follow at all, but she picked up a single phrase.

_Louwoda Kliron Kru._

He was agreeing with the story she hastily whispered to him.

Octavia nodded in confirmation and Clarke followed her lead. Bellamy adjusted his grip around her shoulders, effectively putting more of his weight on her. 

Again, the riders spoke and, again, they said those same words.

_Ripa._

_Heda._

And, finally, a phrase that she recognized.

_Jus drein jus daun._

That sucked the air from the clearing.

_Things spiralled out of control very quickly after that._

Clarke stumbled backwards, pulling Bellamy with her, as one of the riders lifted his sword and readied his horse to charge. Fear flashed through her, knocking the breath from her lungs, and sucking the strength from her legs, and—

Two dull thuds followed.

Both Clarke and Bellamy fell onto their backs, the momentum from earlier causing them to lose balance. She landed partially on him, her injured arm being squished between them. For a flash of a moment, the world narrowed to a brilliant flash of white-hot pain.

When her vision returned and her lungs managed to suck in one shaky breath after another, the clearing had once again returned to a calm.

Octavia was leaning over both of them, her eyes so sharp and her fingers so cold as she pressed them against Clarke’s neck. Her hands left her skin for a brief moment before returning, this time around her arm, wrapping a strip of cloth around her injury.

Clarke rose enough to see around the clearing, her heart still pounding and the image of the rider charging at them seared into her mind.

“Wha—”

She didn’t have to finish her question.

There, where the two riders had been waiting on horseback, now laid two corpses, with identical knives sticking out from under their jaws.

_Dead._

They were dead.

Octavia didn’t wait for her to speak. “I told Bellamy that I would protect him on the mainland,” she said, tying off the end of the cloth. “You thought I wouldn’t come prepared?”

“I didn’t think you would come at all,” Clarke pointed out. “I didn’t think _either of you_ was ever planning on coming back here.”

“Well, we did. _I_ did.” Octavia studied her for a long moment. “I didn’t expect Luna to send… _you_ after us.”

“She didn’t. She didn’t send anyone.” She was done with this conversation. She didn’t _want_ to talk about Luna and all their brewing bad blood, she wanted to talk about _him._

_Bellamy._

He was still lying flat on his back, breathing shallowly. The blood had drained from his face since the last time she looked at him and _it scared her half to death._

His eyes met hers.

“Why’d you come?” Bellamy croaked, his lips barely moving. Her chest ached and panic flared from how _pale_ his lips looked. 

“For you,” she replied, her voice scratchy from unshed tears. “I came for you. I will always come after you.”

His grin was forced. “You won’t need to for much longer,” he said. His cough sounded _so weak_ that it terrified her in ways she never felt before. “I don’t think I’m going to make it back to the rig.” 

“What?” she asked, her gaze flicking towards Octavia for a brief moment. Her ferocity drained away, leaving behind a girl who looked _tired_ and _worried_ and _done with the world._ “I don’t— I don’t understand.”

“I’m dying, Clarke.”

It took her a second to comprehend what he was saying. He wasn’t just dying; he was dying _right then._ She could see it written across his face, and she could see it in the way his soulmark was fading from his wrist, and she could see it in the way Octavia looked at him with absolute horror.

_That hit her harder than anything before._

Even the news that her home was dying didn’t hit her this hard, nor was the news that she was being sent to Earth. Because those things didn’t feel _real,_ at times. They were _so big_ that it was so hard for her to comprehend.

But this.

_She comprehended this._

Bellamy was dying.

This was real, even though she desperately didn’t want it. She could _see_ it in front of her. She could _feel_ it under her palms. She could _feel_ it in her soul.

It was crushing.

She didn’t realize she began crying until her vision blurred from her tears. A weight pressed down across her chest and she could’ve swore she was drowning.

The only other time she felt like this, a tarp had been wrapped around her ankles and she was being dragged down to the depths under the sea.

The only other time she felt like this, Bellamy had been the one to save her.

“It’s okay,” he told her. “It’ll be okay.”

Fuck, did he not understand? Did he not get it?

She couldn’t lose him. The _world_ couldn’t lose him.

“It’s not,” she told him, her voice wobbly. “It’s not okay, Bellamy.”

_(But did that matter?)_

_(What did that change?)_

She gripped the front of his shirt, like her hold alone would keep him here and keep him alive. 

Clarke thought of all the things she wanted to experience with him by her side. She wanted to map the ocean currents in the winter, and dance in the snow, and learn Trigedasleng, and hear all the animals. She wanted to take the weights off his shoulders, even for a moment, and do anything just to make him smile.

She wanted to experience the beauty of Earth, and she wanted to do it with Bellamy at her side.

Because, really, _what was Earth without him?_

Feeling utterly exhausted and hopeless, she let out a rush of air and bent at her middle, bringing their foreheads flush together. His hands were still strong as they grasped her elbows, soothing an ache she didn’t even know she had.

“Please,” she begged, even though she didn’t know what she was begging for. Maybe she was pleading with the gods in the sky, or with the universe, or with the Fates and their strings. She didn’t know. “Please, Bellamy.”

_The next time she spoke, she knew exactly what she was asking for._

“Kiss me,” she breathed. He let out a shuddering breath below her. “Please. Kiss me, Bellamy.”

_And he did._

The kiss was sweeter and more delicate than Clarke expected it to be. She expected crashing lips, and clanging teeth, and frantic hands, but _no._

It was sugar, and warmth, and _life._

Their lips pressed together so tenderly that it hurt her heart. Her free hand ran across his jaw, tracing the scars and the freckles she had studied at a distance for weeks.

She poured her entire soul into the kiss and hoped that he understood everything she was trying to say.

_Don’t go._

_Stay with me._

_Don’t go._

_I love you._

When they broke the kiss, her chest was heaving and her pulse frantic. They stared at each other for a long minute, a silly smile on his face, and said nothing.

Nothing needed to be said.

For several long breaths, they breathed.

Clarke forced the tears from her eyes, wanting to keep her view of him as clear as possible. She didn’t want one of their last times together to be blocked by something as trivial as tears.

“I wanted to know what that felt like before it’s too late,” she claimed.

“And I always wanted to kiss you,” Bellamy finally managed.

Her laugh was wet. “Then why didn’t you?”

“You know why.” His eyes slid shut. Her heart jumped to her throat, and she thought that _this was it. Holy shit, this was it._ Her grip on his hand was sure to be breaking bone. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Losing you was always going to hurt me,” she told him.

He sucked in a deep breath and, maybe it was just her imagination, but she could’ve swore a flush was returning to his cheeks. 

She held his hand tighter.

“I was always going to mourn you,” she added after a long moment. “Because you deserve to be mourned, and you deserve to be loved, and you deserve to be missed. And, _fuck,_ I am going to miss you. I’m going to miss knowing you’re always there, waiting to save me—save me from the ocean, or from Luna, or from Finn, or from eating something that would probably kill me. I’m going to miss the way you taught me about your world, and the way you showed me the beauty of the ocean, and how you’ve already convinced me that I will probably hate winter.” The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. “Fuck, there’s so much more I want to say and— I wish we had more time.”

They locked eyes.

Several beats passed. Clarke doubted he was going to respond at all, and then—

He laughed.

A true, strong, _bright_ laugh. A laugh that he threw his entire body into, with his head tilting back, and his shoulders curling in, and _joy_ lighting up his whole face.

It was Octavia who broke the silence. 

“What’s so funny?” she snapped.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his eyes settling back on hers. The wide smile remained and she couldn’t stop tracing it with her gaze, committing it to memory. His eyes came to rest on his sister again. “You’re going to laugh, O, I promise.”

“I doubt it.”

A beat, then—

“You shouldn’t have come to the mainland.”

She frowned. “You weren’t doing it yourself, and this was the best way to—”

 _“I_ never had to come to the mainland.” 

When neither of them said anything, he simply lifted his wrist, as if that explained it all.

Clarke stared at it for a long moment. The black mark on his inner wrist was universal; it was the same one she had on her wrist, and the same one Wells had, and the same one her parents had.

She knew she missed the point when Octavia let out a sound of surprise. “Holy shit.”

“What?” She peered at it closer. “What’s—”

It hit her.

 _It was darker than she had ever seen it before._ It was a stark contrast to only minutes ago, when he was laying on the ground, struggling to speak; it had almost faded completely, marking the beginning of his end, but—

_Holy shit._

The realization hit Clarke at once.

Bellamy must’ve kissed his soulmate, and the only person he kissed—

Her.

_It was her._

She was his soulmate.

Another long beat passed as they absorbed this realization. 

Wave after wave of emotion hit her; relief, and joy, and a _rightness_ that came with everything fitting together— a rightness that came with all the events leading up to this moment suddenly making sense.

Bellamy and Clarke locked eyes.

Then, they were both moving again.

They collided together, too blissful to form any words. This time, their kiss was full of the clashing teeth and frantic hands that Clarke thought about. 

If the first kiss was honey, this one was fire.

_He tasted like joy, and joy tasted better on Earth._

They broke, their chests heaving again, but the fire of hope burning so brightly that she could feel it radiating through her fingers.

“I am—”

“I know.”

“We are—”

 _“I know.”_ Bellamy said it with so much giddiness that it was impossible for Clarke not to smile.

“We’re soulmates.” 

The words might’ve felt strange in Clarke’s mouth then, but she knew they would become some of her favourite ones in the time to come.

“We’re soulmates.” He grinned. “We could’ve saved a lot of time if we just kissed on the beach.”

“Like I wanted to.”

“Just so you know, I wanted to, too.”

_Bellamy was her soulmate._

Bellamy was her soulmate _and it made perfect sense._

There was nothing else in the world that made as much sense as this, she thought. From the moment she touched down on the ground, they were drawn together, and that connection only grew stronger in the weeks that passed.

_Bellamy was her soulmate, and he was alive, and they had time._

They had all the time in the world.

“What now?”

Clarke had asked that same question the previous day, but they had both been filled with so much fear and uncertainty. Their words had been frantic and sharp.

_This time, it was different._

She was filled with hope, and light, and _he_ was filled with life.

“I don’t know,” he responded, “but we do this together.”

Together sounded nice.

_She never felt so right in her life than she did in that moment._

“We’re in this together—”

_It was as if the Fates had something against them._

A loud bang echoed around the forest, rattling her bones and shaking the trees. Around them, birds took to the sky out of fright. The world seemed to grow to a quiet hush. _But that sound,_ she could’ve swore it came from the sky, but it was too sharp to be thunder.

Clarke looked up, her heart pounding in her chest.

_There._

Streaking through the sky was a familiar structure of metal—a structure that Clarke had resigned herself to never seeing again in her life. A structure that she used to call home; a structure that was dying.

_The Ark._

Pieces of it were streaking through the sky, reminding her of shooting stars.

Her heart dropped and a wave of dread crashed over her.

_No._

Octavia must’ve heard the same thing as she did. She stood, her hand coming up to cup her eyes, as she glanced to the sky. Her shift in her expression when she spotted it was palpable. Her jaw locked, and her eyes narrowed, and her lips curled with clear hate.

“Skaikru,” she hissed, her voice laced with venom.

“Skaikru,” Bellamy echoed. 

Octavia might not have heard the fear and dread in his voice, but _she did._ She did because it was exactly how she felt.

She might’ve found her soulmate in the man who made the ground her home, but her people were coming.

_And the arrival of her people was bound to change everything._

_No,_ Clarke thought. _Not yet. Please._

But, then again, when did the Fates ever listen to her?

**Author's Note:**

> If you were curious about the original application of the Chopped tropes... Luna was written as the good guy as a villain/villain as a good guy, and the fairy tale this was inspired by was The Little Mermaid. The original plans for the fic leaned heavily on Clarke's desire to "be where the people are" and be "part of your world," and was allowed to go to Earth because of that. The scene of the boat tipping in the fourth section may or may not have been inspired by that one scene of Ariel and Eric...
> 
> The quote "He tasted like joy, and joy tasted better on Earth" is from the queen of Bellarke, Kass Morgan herself.
> 
> Also, shout out to LingoJam which, paired with many hours spent learning bits of Trigedasleng from wikia, was used for the Trigedasleng translations in this fic.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Paw  
> Come find me on Tumblr [here!](https://pawprinterfanfic.tumblr.com/)


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